


House of Wolves

by LithiumReaper



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Laura Hale, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Bad Dirty Talk, Fanagling of magical use, Fluff, Isaac is actually a puppy, Kidnapping, Kinda Possessive!Derek, M/M, Magic, Oblivious Sheriff, Pack Night, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Serious Injuries, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is John, Spark!Stiles, Stiles' magic, Violence, alpha!Derek
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-14
Updated: 2015-05-11
Packaged: 2018-02-09 11:02:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 21,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1980474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LithiumReaper/pseuds/LithiumReaper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The kid holds Derek’s eye for a second before tossing his head back and laughing. His mouth stretches so prettily that Derek can only imagine it stretched around his cock.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Boyd and Isaac are manning the door, sans shirts. Derek is behind the bar for a change. Normally he would avoid any form of interaction with people, but they’re short-staffed tonight. Erica is out on the floor, dancing between the patrons and rubbing up against those whom she deems attractive enough. Derek doesn’t want to snort at her behaviour and he refrains as much as possible. The scent of arousal is strong in the packed club. 

The song changes and the party-goers titter in delight. The bass thumps through Derek’s spine as he serves drink after drink. It is a monotonous and menial task, one that he enjoys. There’s a girl at the opposite side of the bar. She’s showing off. Her power is sizzling through her, making her glow with a light blue aura. She’s trying to draw his attention, but he’s long since learned not to rise to the bait. Or sleep with the patrons.

Derek doesn’t feel surprised anymore. This place - his place - is the hottest club in the area. People from three towns over travel hours to wait in line in the hopes that they’ll be deemed lucky enough to enter through the metal sliding door. Derek knows that it makes him seem like a dick to have doormen to screen the waiting flock, but this isn't the kind of establishment that can let just anyone in. 

“Uh, hey man!” a young man’s voice calls and Derek’s hearing is keen enough to follow the voice back to its owner. A young man – boy, really – is standing a few feet away from the eager girl. Derek can see the hairs on this kid’s arms stand on end with the charge the girl is letting off.

“You should probably either sleep with her, or let her off easy.” The kid says, voice as soft as if he would be speaking to a frightened animal. Derek cocks his head and hands the beer in his hand off to the guy in front of him, taking his money with the other hand. “Nice skills.” The kid is grinning now.

“Don’t you think it’s kind of pretentious to be a werewolf and own a bar called house of wolves?” Derek moves closer to the kid, leaning on the countertop between them. This action puts his face extremely close to the kid. Derek’s eyes are level with the kid’s jaw and neck. He can make out freckles and moles on the kid’s face and neck. Derek tamps down on the urge to want to lick them, follow them with his tongue and find out which constellations are drawn onto his skin.

“Hi there.” The kid leans his head to the side, displaying his neck and catching Derek’s eyes. Derek scents the air, focussing on the kid in front of him. All he smells is a light tang of sweat, coffee and a hint of electricity.

“What are you?” Derek asks. He can feel himself frowning and scowling, all rolled into one.

“Spark. How else do you think I got past your muscle manning the door?” The kid has the audacity to wink at Derek. Derek feels conflicted between wanting to snap his neck and fuck him into submission. “But that’s kind of rude, don’t you think? A gentleman would ask my name first.” There’s a twinkle of mischief in his eyes.  
Derek cocks an eyebrow. The kid grins in return, like a challenge.

“Didn’t your mentor teach you not to challenge a werewolf?” Derek asks. His mouth curves into a ferocious grin. If he could smell any actual emotion off the kid, Derek swears he would be able to taste his lust as the kid’s pupils dilate.

“He did. He also taught me to back my challenges up with more than just words.” The kid grins and inches forward slowly. “That girl is about to combust with jealousy. Can you smell it?” He trails his nose up Derek’s, lips trailing over his cheekbone. “She’s just brimming with power and lust. She wants to ride your cock like it’s the last thing she’ll ever do.”

“Aren’t you talking about yourself right now?” Derek mocks. His lips touch the moles on the kid’s jaw lightly.

“Am I?” The kid is infuriating. Derek can feel his cock swell in anticipation.

“Derek.” The kid pulls back minutely to catch Derek’s eye again. There’s a glint in his eyes as he bites his lip. “Thought you’d want to know,” Derek murmurs, “the name you’ll be screaming later.”

The kid holds Derek’s eye for a second before tossing his head back and laughing. His mouth stretches so prettily that Derek can only imagine it stretched around his cock.

“I’ll hold you to it then.” The kid replies, laughter in his voice and shining from his eyes. The kid pushes back from the bar and walks back to wherever he came from, possibly the table of maybe-teenagers who have been jeering in their direction for the entirety of their conversation.

“Stiles.” The kid throws over his shoulder, as if he’s talking to himself, but he knows that Derek is listening intently and trying to place him.

This night just got infinitely more interesting, Derek thinks as he smirks at the girl whose aura hasn’t diminished one bit. He walks back to his side of the bar and pulls shot glasses and tequila bottles. He has work to do and if Derek wishes that the time would move a little quicker, well, no one will know but him.

:::

Derek has him pressed against the door. He’s trying to get the key in the lock, but keeps fisting Stiles’ t-shirt. Stiles lifts his leg, hooking his knee over Derek’s hip and causing their dicks to rub deliciously.

“Fuck, Stiles.” Derek groans against Stiles’ lips.

“That’s the idea,” Stiles quips, “now unlock this door so we can get to the fucking.” He orders, kissing Derek one last time. His teeth pull on Derek’s bottom lip lightly as Stiles leans his head back against the cold wood of Derek’s front door. Derek wrenches Stiles out of the way and jams the key into the lock, twisting and pulling until the soft click sounds and the door swings slowly open.

Derek has Stiles’ wrist in an iron grip as he pulls Stiles into his apartment, while trying to close the door behind them and take Stiles’ shirt off, all at once. They stumble into the living room, trip down the small steps and Stiles lands on top of Derek at the same time that Derek’s ass connects with the couch.

Stiles’ legs are spread wide to accommodate Derek’s thighs. Stiles kisses Derek hard, biting his lips and plunging his tongue into Derek’s mouth. Derek pulls Stiles’ hips closer, spreading his thighs even further. He digs his fingers into Stiles’ ass, squeezing his cheeks and pressing his dick into Derek’s abdomen. 

“F-fuck, nnghh, do that again.” Stiles demands before attacking Derek’s neck with lips and teeth and tongue. Derek squeezes Stiles’ ass again, but he’s getting impatient. He pushes Stiles’ shirt up his torso, revealing milky white skin dotted with moles. Derek wants to trace them with his tongue and bite them into form. 

He has Stiles’ pants open before he can comprehend that his hands are moving. Derek pulls Stiles’ dick out and tugs on it lightly. Stiles is rock hard and moaning sweetly like a well-paid whore in Derek’s ear.

“Yes, fuck, harder.” Stiles snaps his hips up into Derek’s loose fist and whines. “Come on Derek.” Derek pushes him back and sticks his hand in Stiles’ face, crude, but he gets the message and starts sucking on Derek’s fingers, wetting his hand. Derek wraps his fingers tightly around Stiles’ dick, squeezes, before sliding from root to tip. Stiles’ eyes are focused on the dark purple head of his cock slip-sliding through Derek’s tight fist.

“God, get naked already.” Stiles moans, neck bared. “I don’t want to come on this pretty shirt of yours.” Stiles teases.

“Then take it off.” Derek grins. Stiles bites his lip and start tugging on the tight black t-shirt, moaning in appreciation with each inch of Derek’s skin that is revealed.

When they are both naked, Derek has a lap full of naked Stiles, their hands entwined over their dicks as Stiles slides their fingers up and down, up and down. The rhythm is quick and hard, each chasing their own orgasm, but biting and sucking at each other’s lips, combined with the odd snap of their hips to tease the other.

Derek can feel Stiles tensing his thighs and he throws his head back, throat dotted with nips, spit and moles so prettily exposed, coming in ropes over their fingers and on Derek’s abdomen. Derek strokes harder, milking Stiles through his orgasm and shamelessly chasing his own. He follows Stiles mere tugs later.

When Derek finally comes to, Stiles is still sitting in his lap. His face is nestled in Derek’s neck and he’s still breathing harshly. Derek can feel their come drying on his fingers and stomach. They should move, clean up, stumble down the hall and into bed, but they don’t. Derek shamelessly rubs his nose along Stiles’ neck as they come down from their respective highs.

When Stiles shifts, Derek knows he’s about to put his clothes back on and leave, so instead of letting him up like Derek should, he tightens his fingers on Stiles’ thigh.

“I think we’ll both need a nap before that fucking I promised you.” Derek mumbles into Stiles’ skin.

“Yeah?” Stiles leans back to look Derek in the eye.

“Yeah.”

:::


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I just wrote most of this, because I didn't like the first one.. Here you go!
> 
> Unbeta'd, so all mistakes are my own. Please let me know if there are any errors, glaring or otherwise.
> 
> This is the first full smutty piece I've written. Concrit and kudos most welcome

Derek wakes slowly, almost languidly. The warm weight on top of him, assures him that Stiles is still here. He stretches his muscles minutely, not wanting to wake Stiles. The pull of muscles on his back and legs gives Derek a pleasant tingle and he smothers a contented groan. Stiles snuffles into his pillow. His arm is thrown across Derek’s stomach and it feels painfully nonchalant in its normalcy.

Sliding out from underneath Stiles’ arm is easy. Derek heads to the bathroom to take a piss and wash the come from his hand. It’s cracking and flaky and Derek knows that he’s going to have a hell of a time to get it out of his happy trail without yanking the last bit of sparse hair off of his chest.

Sometime during the early morning, they relocated to Derek’s bedroom. Derek knows that their clothes are still strewn all around his living room floor, but right now he doesn’t give a shit. After flushing the toilet and washing their mingled come off of his hand, Derek scratches at his come-covered stomach and grimaces. He needs a shower, desperately, but a quick wipe-down will have to do. He’s still tired and with a warm and willing body in his bed, he’s going to take full advantage of napping in contented heat.

Sliding back into bed, Derek pulls Stiles toward him and basks in the heat of the other man’s back against his chest. If he could, Derek is pretty sure he’d be purring. He’s still smiling softly when he falls back asleep, lips pressed to the nape of Stiles’ neck.

:::

Waking a second time, Derek can feel the sun’s rays peeking through his curtains and warming the patch of skin it falls across. Derek stretches a hand to where Stiles is still sleeping and comes up short. The bed is empty and the sheets are cold. Derek feels slightly disappointed, but swallows it down. It’s a one-night-stand. What did he expect?

“You know, you’re terribly cute when you’re asleep.” Comes from the doorway. Derek sits up slightly, resting his weight on his elbows. Stiles is leaning against the doorframe, coffee mug in hand and Derek’s boxer briefs snug on his hips.

“Really? I’m sure drool and bedhead are turning you on right now.” Derek says light-heartedly, as if he didn’t feel like folding his arms across his chest and pouting in disappointment, like the toddler he isn’t.

“Oh, you’d be surprised at how much this sight is turning me on.” Stiles teases, the hand not holding the mug, reaches down and cups his cock through Derek’s underwear. He doesn’t even have to look down, to know that Stiles gave his cock a squeeze before letting go. “You have an awesome kitchen. Bet it’s perfect for pack night.” Stiles swallows the last of his coffee down in one gulp and sets the mug down on the dresser.

“Small talk? Really?” Derek cocks an eyebrow and Stiles scoffs. He’s walking back toward the bed. His hips and thighs are a little red and Derek knows there will be bruises soon, but his dick just twitches at the sight of Stiles’ sashaying hips and bruised up body. He did that to Stiles, he made Stiles moan and groan and whine and plead, and he made him press his nails into Derek’s shoulders until he drew blood. 

“Not small talk, asshole. This is me being polite.” Stiles snarks. He has one knee balanced on the edge of the mattress, jutting his hips and causing the stolen underwear to pull against his dick.

“Why don’t you come be polite on my dick.” Derek grins while speaking. Stiles just scoffs again.

“Oh my God, how do you even get laid at all dude? No lady wants to hear that.” Stiles says, but he’s on all fours and crawling his way up the bed.

“Good thing you’re not a lady.” Derek grins and pulls Stiles into his lap when he’s close enough. “You really want me to be polite and charming when I’m about to fuck the shit out of you?” Derek asks with a glint in his eye. His hands curl around Stiles’ cheeks and squeezes his ass, grinding his hips up at the same time.

“Fuck.” Stiles groans and falls forward, catching his weight on his hands, either side of Derek’s head. Stiles inches his hips forward and back, rubbing his clothed dick against Derek’s sheet-covered one. Derek slides his hands up Stiles’ back, making him arch his back before sliding his hands back down again and under the stolen underwear. Derek pushes the underwear down with one hand, while the other slides down Stiles’ crack. He catches the underwear just below Stiles’ pucker.

His fingers find it seconds later, rubbing lightly over the furrowed hole and scratching over it lightly with the tip of his nail. Stiles lets out a whine and arches his back further, pushing his ass out and further into Derek’s hands.

Derek pulls one hand away from Stiles’ ass and curls around his neck instead, pulling Stiles down and into a filthy kiss. It’s teeth and tongue and spit and Stiles twitching his hips so that Derek’s fingers will rub at his hole.

“Lube, right now. Where’s the fucking lube?” Stiles demands between kisses, tongue curling around Derek’s. Derek reaches a hand out and after flopping the limb around, he locates the top drawer of his night stand and has the bottle of lube open within seconds. Stiles, however, has different ideas.

He pulls back and sits up, knees rhythmically squeezing Derek’s ribs. He takes the lube from Derek, along with Derek’s hand. He slides Derek’s middle and pointer fingers into his mouth. His tongue is flicking against knuckles and the webbing between the fingers. Derek groans and feels like saying fuck it and make Stiles suck him off instead. But he promised him a fuck and that’s what he’ll get.

“If you don’t stop that right now, the imagery in my mind is going to make me come.” Derek groans loudly when Stiles slurps off of his fingers loudly.

“Awh, you don’t pre-party anymore?” Stiles teases, flicking his tongue over the tips of Derek’s fingers, like he’s tonguing the slit on Derek’s dick, instead of sucking on his fingers.

“Not since I was 17, but that doesn’t matter, does it? You’ll be screaming my name within minutes anyway.” Derek teases right back.

“Cocky, cocky.” Stiles giggles, biting the pad of Derek’s middle finger. Derek grins and Stiles gives his fingers one last lick, before dripping lube oh-so-slowly onto his fingers. Stiles traces his fingers between Derek’s, making sure they’re properly covered and Derek’s sure that he didn’t have a thing for people playing with his fingers like this, but he’s fast developing one.

“While we were in the club, the only thing I could think about was getting your fingers inside of me,” Stiles guides Derek’s hand behind him and between his cheeks. “So put them to use, why don’t you?” Derek knows it’s a demand and not really a question.

He slides his fingers around and around Stiles’ hole. He’s leaning forward again, ass sticking out and breath puffing in Derek’s face. Derek leans forward and bites Stiles’ lip at the same time that he pops his finger into Stiles’ hole. Stiles gasps and groans and arches his back a little more.

Derek slides his finger slowly in, rubbing at the walls that are clenching so tightly. Soon, Stiles relaxes enough to take two fingers and Derek scissors him open, fingers pressing deep and parting on the way out. Derek knows he’s struck gold when Stiles cries out.

“Jesus, fuck- I- do that again!” Stiles pushes his hips back, clenching on Derek’s fingers as he fucks his hips back onto them. Derek grins viciously when his fingers connect with the little bundle of nerves and he rubs mercilessly against it. Stiles is moaning loudly and chokes down a sob.

“I’m ready, fuck- nnghh, fuck me.” He pleads and Derek rubs at his prostate for another minute before pulling his fingers from Stiles’ hole. There’s a squelching sound as Derek’s fingers are freed, but it’s one of the hottest things he’s ever heard. He pulls a condom from the same drawer he found the lube in, tearing it open. Stiles whines and pushes the sheet still covering Derek’s hips away.

Derek rolls the condom on and Stiles squirts lube onto Derek’s dick. He grips Derek’s dick tightly and strokes him twice, before reaching back and rubbing the remaining lube onto his hole. Stiles shuffles forward and Derek pulls his underwear down and off. There’s a wet spot on the crotch and Stiles is unabashedly leaking pre-come.

Derek holds the base of his dick and Stiles’ hips lift and before Derek can wrap his head around this incredible human, Stiles slides down on Derek’s dick. The head pops past Stiles rim and Derek doesn’t hear him breathe until they’re pressed flush together. Stiles rests his hands on Derek’s chest and moans when the movement presses Derek’s dick against his prostate.

Derek can feel Stiles’ thighs tremble and curls a hand over his neck, pulling him down for a kiss. The angle pulls against Stiles’ rim and he moans into the kiss. Derek breathes harshly between kisses. Stiles is so tight around him and he keeps clenching and releasing his muscles, like he wants to get used to the girth.

Stiles lifts his hips minutely and slides back down again. He breaks the kiss to groan Derek’s name. He slides higher and higher with every slide, until just the head is still inside his hole. Derek doesn’t expect Stiles to slide his hips down with such speed, like a puppet that had its strings cut. They both cry out and Stiles does it again and again. Derek grabs him underneath his thighs and tips his weight forward more, plants his feet and snaps his hips up. Again and again, harder and faster, before slowing down to feel Stiles’ inner walls drag against his dick. He slides one hand up to cup Stiles’ ass and rests two fingers right where they’re connected.

“Jesus Stiles.” Derek pants, hips snapping up and up. “I can feel your rim tugging down every time I slide out of you.” Derek says, right into Stiles’ ear. Stiles moans and pushes his hips down, matching the pace that Derek set out.

“So full, fuck-“ Stiles moans. He’s making little ah, ah, ah’s that get louder by the minute. “Derek, I’m- fuck, nnggh-“ He’s suddenly coming, untouched and cuts himself off. He squeezes deliciously around Derek and his orgasm creeps up on him. He’s coming before he knows it, pushing up, slamming into Stiles as he fills the condom, wishing that he could pound his come deep into Stiles.

Stiles slumps against Derek, smearing his come across Derek’s chest and onto his own. They’re both panting, puffing breath against each other’s cheeks. Derek feels his dick softening inside of Stiles and he runs his fingers over Stiles’ abused hole, sliding his fingers inside as he pulls his dick out. Stiles moans pitifully.

“I won’t be getting it up again. I think you’ve fucked the will to fuck right out of me.” Stiles moans against Derek’s neck. Derek huffs and pokes Stiles in the side until he slumps to the side. Derek ties the condom, once he’s pulled it off and stumbles to the bathroom. His legs feel like jelly.

He dumps the condom in the bathroom trashcan and grabs a washcloth. He cleans Stiles’ come off his stomach and wanders into the bedroom. Stiles is still in the same position on his side. His eyes are closed and he’s smiling. He looks come-drunk. Derek tells him this and Stiles laughs.

Derek cleans the remaining come off of Stiles’ stomach and runs the washcloth between his cheeks to clean off the lube. Stiles rolls onto his stomach so that Derek can clean his hole thoroughly. Derek runs his thumb over Stiles’ hole. It’s red and puffy and looks abused. He can’t stop himself from placing a kiss on the stretched pucker.

Derek tosses the washcloth off of the bed and sinks down next to Stiles. Stiles shuffles closer, resting his cheek on Derek’s shoulder and arm tossed haphazardly across Derek’s stomach. The nonchalance from earlier makes Derek’s eye twitch with supressed emotion.

“You should stay.” Derek mumbles into Stiles hair as he pulls him closer.

“Yeah, okay.” Stiles mumbles. They’re both asleep within minutes.

:::

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll write more if you guys want me to..


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles is hot, wet and tight and Derek’s brain is about to leak out of his dick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not beta'd, so all mistakes are mine. Please let me know if there are any errors, glaring or otherwise..

Derek wakes slowly, stretching his limbs like a cat dozing in the sun. He can feel his muscles straining and his joints popping. The space next to him is cold. The sheets are wrinkled, like an old man’s face and the room smells like sex. Derek has no idea when Stiles eventually left, but he did so quietly enough that Derek didn’t even wake up. That, or Derek was so sexed out that he didn’t realise the younger man leaving.

They fucked twice more throughout the night. Derek rimmed him, made Stiles ride to his completion on his fingers pressed against his prostate. Stiles sucked him off, hoked his ankles around Derek’s middle and made him fuck Stiles’ hole, like he was running a marathon. Just thinking about it is enough to get Derek hard again, but right now, there is no Stiles next to him to blow, finger, lick, fuck or kiss. Contenting himself with jerking off, Derek yawns.

He stretches again and scratches his stomach. His fingers tangle in the hair under his navel and the dried come pulls some of the hair from his skin. Derek is man enough to admit that he flinches. Dried come is unpleasant, no matter where it is or who you are.

Derek decides to go about his day. Getting up, showering, making breakfast and then heading down to the bar to start on clean-up and count last night’s money, before setting up the float for tonight. He was a little pre-occupied and this break in routine actually annoys him, except that when he thinks about counting money versus the amazing sex he had had, well, he’s not going to complain now.

 

:::

 

It’s been two weeks since his night with Stiles and Derek has mostly forgotten about the younger man. Mostly anyway. He’s behind the bar again, serving drinks left and right to the supernaturals of Beacon Hills, who are undoubtedly looking for a good time. They’re mostly human by day and seek their kind out on weekends to unwind a little. It’s what Laura always says. It isn’t Derek’s fault if it has been ingrained into his brain, okay.

The problem is, Derek is behind the bar serving drinks left and right to the supernatural beings that makeup his clientele, when he smells it. The sweet cinnamon and caffeine, slightly dulled smell of sweaty boy. Stiles. 

Derek’s head snaps up. He knows the smell of boy and sex and a little tinge of supernatural, but this smell is unique. It has been in his nostrils for two weeks whenever Derek imagines that he sees a glimpse of Stiles turning a corner, getting into a car, hiding from Derek. But he’s not hiding from Derek right now and that is what makes the beer in his hand slide back into the fridge, call out to one of his lackeys, Erica maybe, to take the bar and storms out from behind the bar.

He follows his nose, which hasn’t lied to him yet, in his 26 years of existence. He follows it right up to Stiles and the man pressed to his back, emitting pheromones like a whore being presented with a stack of hundred-dollar-bills.

His eyes flash red and the man, a deputy at the Sherriff’s station, scrambles backward, nods and disappears into the crowd around them. He can hear Stiles sputtering, but his glare doesn’t work on the little motor mouth.

“The fuck- Derek?” Stiles bites out. He’s neither amused, nor is he happy to see Derek, which would be a major setback in whatever the hell it is Derek has decided to do when he stalked over here. His dick decides to let his brain know, the moment that it does.

“Stiles.” Derek replies, stiffly. His fingers grab a wrist and tug, pulling the younger man into his chest, before turning. Derek stalks to the back offices, where he knows no one will be. It’s a Saturday night and as is usual, it is their busiest night of the week and Derek really shouldn’t be doing this, he thinks to himself, even as he closes the door by pushing Stiles up against it.

Stiles’ sputters die in his throat when Derek kisses him. It’s rough and biting, spit-slickened lips sliding together as tongues battle for dominance. Derek didn’t even notice his tongue invading Stiles’ mouth, but he doesn’t mind one little bit.

“Missed me?” Stiles teases, as Derek moves his lips to the younger man’s neck and scrapes his beard along the milky flesh as he bites into the cords of Stiles’ neck.

“Clearly.” Derek mumbles and pushes his hips against Stiles’. He’s hard. Derek can feel the outline of Stiles’ dick slide along his, as Stiles moans and snaps his hips up demandingly.

“Less talking, more fucking.” Stiles groans. Derek fumbles with Stiles’ belt, button and zipper, turning him around once all three are undone, zipped down and those tight, tight jeans are pushed down as far as possible, down Stiles’ strong, toned thighs. Derek would never guess that underneath his clothes, such a fine specimen of man can be found. Not that Derek would ever say this to Stiles, or anyone else for that matter.

Derek sucks his fingers into his mouth, before sliding them between Stiles’ cheeks, finding the flesh soft, supple and his fingers find their way inside Stiles’ hole easily.

“Jesus –are you – you prepped? Are you literally looking for any guy to fuck you?” Derek snarls, his sudden fury making his wolf howl and pace and snarl. Stiles just giggles. He fucking giggles.

“No, you idiot,” he moans “You own this place, so I knew that you’d be here.” Stiles muffles his moan by biting his lip.

Derek bites Stiles’ neck in retribution and sinks into him roughly. Stiles is hot, wet and tight and Derek’s brain is about to leak out of his dick.

“Yeah, you missed me.” Stiles pants and it is all over. Derek drives into him and seconds, minutes, hours later he spills inside of Stiles, feeling strangely accomplished.

:::

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo you convinced me... Lemme know what you think and if 15 chapters will be enough...


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He sets an almost brutal pace, slides his fingers between Stiles's cheeks and rubs against the rim as his cock pushes in harshly, before sliding out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wrote this and I hope it does the rest of this story justice.. I'm thinking of building some plot in the next chapter, but we'll see how it goes.
> 
> Unbeta'd and all mistakes are mine. Please let me know if there are any errors, glaringly or otherwise.
> 
> Kudos, comments and concrit are most welcome! I'd like to hear all of your thoughts on whether this is still good enough to continue.
> 
> This chapter takes place immediately after chapter 3, like, the same night...

"Im pretty sure when you said massage, you didnt actually mean a massage." Stiles' voice is muffled. He has his face stuffed into his pillow as Derek digs his thumbs into muscles that make Stiles' back tense minutely. Derek's not entirely sure if it is from pain or pleasure.

Running his fingers over the bumps of Stiles's spine, Derek digs his fingers into his lower back, causing Stiles to tense and groan into the pillow. Derek almost feels bad for him. Almost. Sliding one, then the other knee between the small space between Stiles' parted thighs, Derek relishes in the slapping of skin when he pushes Stiles' thighs apart with his knees. The movement raises Stiles' ass off of the bed.

Leaning down, Derek pushes his clothed semi against Stiles' ass. The sound of Derek's soft grey sweats and Stiles' noisy shorts fills the small space of Stiles' bunk. It is quickly followed by a groan and a minute push back. Derek pushes his hips against Stiles' ass again, starting his massage again, right at the base of Stiles' skull.

"Shit." Stiles' voice is clearer and Derek can see the side of his face. He's biting his lip, alternating between licking it and sucking it into his mouth. The pressure of Derek's hips shifts as he leans down to nip at Stiles' exposed neck and shoulders.

Kissing down the nobs of Stiles' spine, Derek lets his hips move higher up Stiles' ass, before sneaking one hand underneath the younger man's hips and down into his shorts and the constant pressure of Derek's hips makes Stiles groan. Cupping Stiles dick and squeezing it gently makes his hips press up into the friction behind him and the pressure below him.

"You were saying?" Derek teases and Stiles just whines. Derek knows he's being cruel, but he's had this image in his mind for days now and he's determined to see it, touch it, taste it. The last fuck up against the office door just wasn't enough. Derek needs more and it's not like Stiles is going to say no to getting his brains fucked out on what is quickly becoming a daily basis. 

Derek invited Stiles over, lured more like it, with the promise of a massage and a filthy look. Stiles protested at first, the whole argument of "dude, I thought we were just fucking casually" and retorted with a "don't call me dude and you've seen my place already, so do you want me to fuck you or not?" Apparently, that was the end of that, and here they are.

Derek pulls his hand away from Stiles' dick and shoves his hand between Stiles' cheeks before he can protest. Derek's index finger slowly circles the puckered hole and it flutters beneath the calloused pad. Stiles has shoved his arms from under the pillow, to next to his chest to he can lever himself up somewhat against the pressure Derek is exerting.

"Derek, fuck." Stiles groans and this time Derek doesn't grin. He rubs his finger in slow circles, working his way from the outside in, increasing the pressure of his circles as he progresses. Stiles is still wet, though not as much as he was at the club. There is still a lingering wetness of Derek's come and the younger man just positively smells like he's Derek's.

"Lube?" Derek asks just as he reaches his destination, pink puckered ring of muscle giving way and the tip of Derek's index finger pops in slowly. It's not overtly dry, and Derek doesn't need Stiles to say anything to know that without lube, nothing is going up anywhere, fingers or otherwise.

Stiles fishes a small clear tube from under his pillow and slides it across the mattress toward Derek. Lube in sight, Derek pulls back, instead opting to rub two fingers over Stiless hole to make him squirm, make him beg. Stiles is beautiful when he begs.

Derek leans down and whisperes into the curve of Stiles' ear, "Spread yourself for me." He pulls back, just as Stiles keens, and yanks Stiles' shorts down and off. Stiles reaches back and pulls his cheeks apart, his punk puckered hole clenching and looks just as needy as Derek feels. 

Derek doesn't remember lubing his fingers up, but he comes to with his fingers and tongue spearing Stiles open, and the younger man moans long and low. Derek can taste himself on Stiles' hole and it makes him growl. The vibrations makes Stiles keen and swear.

"Jesus, fuck. Derek, come on," he pants as he pulls his cheeks further apart and tries to coax Derek closer, deeper, more. Derek hums and spears Stiles' hole harder and curls his tongue around the rim and Stiles just wails.

Pulling back, Derek grabs hold of Stiles' neck, and lifts him onto his hands and knees. Stiles goes easily and groans as Derek slides into him, cock lubed and shoved deep. Derek waits, just a moment, wills his breathing to slow down and his claws to not push holes into Stiles' hips.

"Come on," Stiles groans and flexes his hips under Derek's hands. His hole is fluttering around Derek's dick and he cannot keep his groan to himself when Stiles clenches around him, the grip like a vice. Derek growls and pulls his hips back, before slamming home.

He sets an almost brutal pace, slides his fingers between Stiles' cheeks and rubs against the rim as his cock pushes in harshly, before sliding out. Derek bites his lip as his dick pulls out and Stiles' rim protests the movement, sliding back and forth with the movement of the dick spearing him open again, and again, and again.

"Fuck, fuck, Der-harder," Stiles wails and Derek complies. The fluttering feeling in his chest is uncomfortable and his brain is working harder than his hips, screaming at him that he wants more than just a casual fuck every now and then.

But he ignores it, snaps his hips harder and fucks them both into oblivion, until he comes, shoved deep inside Stiles, and his brain quiets down, along with Stiles' moans and twitches as he passes out.

Derek is so fucked.

:::


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Where is he?” The young man demands.
> 
> “Excuse me?” Derek arches his eyebrows in confusion.
> 
> :::
> 
> Stiles goes missing and Scott barges in on Derek trying to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really sorry that it's been so long since I've updated this. RL has been incredibly difficult and I had minor surgery yesterday.
> 
> Unbeta'd and all mistakes are my own. Please tell me if you find any errors, and I will fix them immediately.
> 
> Comments and kudos = LOVE (and another chapter) ♡

There is a commotion outside. Derek’s keen hearing tells him that whatever is happening is at the bar, where Erica is supposed to be cleaning up and taking stock. Frowning, Derek is about to get up to inspect the disturbance, when a young man storms into Derek’s office.

The young man looks familiar, with his floppy brown hair, doe eyes and crooked jaw. His face seems to be set in anger and determination, laced with a hint of worry and desperation. His eyes flicker around the room, as if he’s looking for something, before settling on Derek, sitting behind his desk. Despite his general desperate appearance, his smell was more worrying than anything. He’s a wolf.

“Where is he?” The young man demands.

“Excuse me?” Derek arches his eyebrows in confusion.

“Stiles, you jackass. Where the hell is he?” Derek swears that the kid is about to vibrate out of his skin, when his eyes flash gold. Derek feels his own eyes flash crimson in retaliation. His wolf is pacing, snarling at him to teach this pup a lesson, but Derek ignores the challenge.

“I haven’t seen Stiles since Monday.” Derek calmly replies. The kid starts pacing, alternating between chewing his thumbnail and tugging on his hair. Boyd appears in the doorframe and Derek nearly rolls his eyes in the blatant excuse of security, but sees Boys trying to hide a limp. Derek cocks his eyebrow and Boyd looks down. The kid must have hit him where it clearly hurt.

“Stiles- he,” The kid stops, “he’s gone. He hasn’t been home in like, three days, which is totally weird, because if he’s just, like meeting you somewhere to bang or go to class or whatever, he always tells me where he is and-“

“Hang on, kid, stop.” Derek stands and moves over to the kid, slowly, almost like he is approaching a wounded animal. In a way, he kind of is. Derek cannot help but think about his mother and how she used to tell Derek bedtime stories and warn him about wolves being pushed into a corner. She always said that a cornered, wounded animal is more dangerous than an entire pack of wolves. Somehow Derek’s mind makes the connection between his mother’s words and this kid’s frantic pacing and horrified expression.

“When and where did you see Stiles last?” Derek demands, but the kid just ignores him and keeps pacing.

“Stop!” Derek roars. The kid stops and Derek hears Boyd, Erica and Isaac whimper, where all three of them have moved to the doorway, each baring their throats. Derek cannot help but notice the kid’s eyes flash gold, but he doesn’t bare his neck, he doesn’t submit. He stops though, which is kind of the point though.

“When and where did you see Stiles last?” Derek grinds out again.

“Wednesday. We were having a Halo night, because neither of us have class on Thursdays. He went to pick up our pizza and just, never came back.” Derek can sense that the kid is about to start pacing again, so he takes a step closer.

“Take me to his car.” Derek demands. The kid blanches.

“Don’t you think that I’ve been looking for it since Wednesday night?” The kid roars in response.

“I didn’t say that, but I do think that you have a rough idea of where it might be. So, take me to it. There might be a scent that still clings to it, which could help us find him.” 

“You- you’ll help me?” The kid seems shocked that Derek, an Alpha werewolf (the capital A is audible even in the kid’s thoughts), would help this scraggly kid find Derek’s regular-one-night-stand-person-guy.

“Yes.” Derek replies firmly, before turning to his beta’s, “Erica, you and Boyd stay here. It’s Saturday, we can’t close the place for the night, so don’t pout. Isaac, with me and-“ Derek turns to the kid. He doesn’t even know this kid’s name, but he’s already planning how he can help him find Stiles, who he’s going to call and pump for information, what scents he hopes he’ll detect-

“Scott. My name’s Scott.” The kid- Scott- helpfully supplies. Derek nods.

“Let’s go.” He pushes past his beta’s, feeling Scott following him closely, Isaac hot on his heels too.

 

:::

 

It takes them three hours to find Stiles’ car. Isaac is of no use, seeing as he’s never even met Stiles before, so it’s just Scott and Derek scenting the air. The Camaro’s windows are down and they’re driving around the downtown area, trying to catch a whiff of tantalising spice and the hint of electricity that always clings to Stiles’ skin. Then, finally, Derek catches a hint of something, somewhere between a hipster coffee shop and a new age gym advertising yoga classes every Wednesday.

Three long, agonising hours later, Derek smells the faint trace of Stiles. He turns the steering wheel sharply, following the miniscule trace. Isaac huffs as he’s tossed around the backseat and Scott frantically yells “What? Did you find something?” in Derek’s ear. Derek ignores them both. Racing down the street, Derek yanks the Camaro awkwardly onto the curb. He doesn’t even bother turning the car off, before jumping from the driver’s seat and taking off down an alley.

Derek follows his nose, and stops abruptly at the sight of a light blue monstrosity of a Jeep, wedged tightly between a dumpster and a wet looking brick wall. Derek doesn’t need to be a detective to know that it looks suspicious. Scott’s footsteps come to a halt next to Derek, Isaac only a few steps behind. Derek and Scott slowly approach the Jeep and squeeze between the dumpster and the driver’s side door to try and pry the door open.

“Stiles didn’t do this,” Scott says firmly. “He’s a shitty driver on a good day and I know for a fact that there’s no way in hell that he would get his Jeep into a tight spot like this.” Scott confirms his theory when he pulls on the handle, only to find the car unlocked. He stares intently at Derek.

“This thing is his baby. He would never leave it unlocked.” Somehow, Scott manages to look even more concerned.

Derek squirms into the Jeep and Scott nervously bounces on the balls of his feet, peering into the Jeep after Derek. It took Derek a moment to adjust to the dim light in the Jeep, but he ignores his sense of sight and focuses on what he can smell. Derek’s dick twitches at the cinnamon smell that always accompanies Stiles and that trace of electricity raises the hair on Derek’s arms. He tunes out the foul smell of rotting pizza on the backseat and catches a faint trace of earth, old paper and the slightly burning smell of incense, which Derek has learned is the smell that accompanies magic.

Derek fumbles with fingers that suddenly feel thick, prying his phone from his pocket and scrolling through his contacts and immediately dialling Deaton’s number. The ex-emissary, who likes to moonlight as a veterinarian, answers the phone after only two rings.

“Derek.” The man says in lieu of a greeting.

“Are there any witches in the area?” Derek barks. His knees are pressing into the seat and the handbrake is digging into the skin of his thigh.

“None. Something you would know if you attended your family’s meetings-“ Derek growls and snarls into the phone.

“A friend of mine has been taken. Kidnapped. That smell that you carried around you when I was a kid, is in his car.” Derek clenches his jaw in an effort not to yell at the older man. Deaton is quiet for a minute.

“Natural magic, the Spark, has a specific smell, just like someone who has mastered magic through learning it, without any natural ability. It smells like incense, which is what the user has to burn in order to focus their energy.” Deaton explains. “I don’t know what else to tell you Derek. Marin still has a few contacts within the coven. I’ll call her and find out what she knows. I’ll look through my books too, and check if there are any rituals, if a few witches managed to slink into the area undetected.” Deaton ends the call immediately and Derek growls in frustration. 

He turns around and shimmies through the gap between the Jeep’s door and the dumpster, pushing Scott away as he carefully manoeuvres himself out of the Jeep.

“What did you smell?” Scott demands.

“Stiles,” Derek pauses, “and something- someone else.” Derek stresses as he moves back down the alley. Scott follows Derek closely.

“What smell? I can’t smell anything in there,” Scott bites out, trotting behind Derek. The sour scent of worry and anxiety coming in waves off of Scott, and it stings the walls of Derek’s nose.

“Alpha’s have a more acute sense of smell,” Derek mumbles distractedly. Suddenly, he’s yanked back and Scott is standing in front of him, fuming.

“Look asshole, my best friend is missing and you’re not being very helpful. I don’t wanna have to call his dad and explain how I lost the last family he has left, so for God’s sake you pompous Alpha piece of shit, help me find him!” Scott yells. His fists are balled and there’s a hint of fur growing on Scott’s face as he tries to control his anger and anxiety.

Derek feels confusion overcome him as Scott slowly gets himself under control. This kid- he’s a bitten wolf, Derek’s mind supplies. Bitten wolves are rare, because Alpha’s require permission from the council before the bite can be offered, and no bites have been given in the last nine months. Derek files the information away as he grits his teeth and looks Scott straight in the eye.

“I called a friend of my mother’s. I recognised the smell of magic that always clung to his skin, so whomever took Stiles, isn’t a natural magic user, but someone who spent time learning and mastering the trade. From what I can remember, the circle is relatively small, so they tend to stick together, or at least keep in contact with one another. If one of those magic users has found their way to Beacon Hills, Deaton will find out about it and he’ll let me know.”

Scott huffs and starts pacing back and forth in front of Derek. The smell of blood permeates the air as Scott clearly presses his nails into his palms as his anger grows. The sour smell of anxiety becomes sharper and the kid lets out a low whine.

Isaac suddenly decides to speak, as he steps up behind Derek, making his presence known just behind Derek’s right shoulder.

“We should go to Deaton’s clinic. He keeps all of his books on the various covens there. He has some serious OCD, and he likes keeping everything in one place. Maybe we could even help with the research, if he tells us specifically what we’ll have to look for.” Isaac’s eyes are wide and pleading, as he glances between Derek and a still pacing Scott.

Derek nods in reply and herds them toward his car as his own anxiety grows. Derek bites his lip and forces the worry away. He doesn’t care about Stiles. They don’t have that kind of relationship, but he simply cannot repress the feeling of desperation to find the young man that Derek has, admittedly, grown attached to. He clenches his jaw and sends a silent prayer to the goddess to keep Stiles safe.

 

:::

 

The material is scratchy against Stiles’ face. The small fibres leave small red spots on his face, but Stiles keeps his head down, chin against his chest. Any previous attempts to talk to his kidnappers, earned him punches to the face. Stiles is pretty sure that his nose is broken and the blood from both his nose and split lip, are running down his chin and neck. His hands and feet are also tied with a thick, even scratchier rope. Stiles knows, without even having to check, that his wrists are rubbed raw, just like his ankles obviously are. 

They’ve been talking in hushed tones, his six kidnappers. Two have been coming and going, and Stiles presumes that they’ve been carrying various items into the room. He knows instinctually that they want to perform a ritual of some sort. They’ve also thought this through, because they casted a dampening spell on Stiles the moment that they knocked him out.

The hair on his arms stand to attention and Stiles knows that they’ve drawn the symbols needed for whatever it is that they’re here for. Suddenly, it hits him like a sack of bricks. He’s a Spark. They’re here for his power and Stiles knows, through hours and hours of research and crime scene photographs that would litter the kitchen table in his childhood home, that the only way to draw the power from a Spark, is to bring them to the brink of death. Most die anyway, due to the trauma of having their life-force ripped from their veins.

“It’s time.” A woman, clearly the one in charge of the whole operation, says in a sugary sweet tone. Stiles has a moment of recognition, his brain nearly providing a name for the sickeningly pretence of innocence, when it all goes black. Again.

 

:::


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She runs her nails around Stiles’ neck and her fingers close tightly around his throat. Stiles feels her fingers link as she squeezes her hands tighter and tighter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter came put of nowhere and is hellaciously long.
> 
> This chapter has some graphic depictions of violence, so please skip this chapter is that might be triggering for you.
> 
> Not beta'd, becaue it is after 12 and I've had an incredibly long day. If there are any errors, glaringly or otherwise, please tell me and I will fix it immediately.
> 
> Kudos + comments = love ♡

Stiles feels groggy and tries to blink his eyes open. His face is no longer covered, but his hands are still bound to the chair. Whoever took him, clearly know enough about the abilities of a Spark, that they don’t allow his hands to touch. The sharp nails, though, are enough to wake Stiles up completely. He clenches his jaw and pushes the shiver of disgust down as deep as possible. 

“Well, well, little Spark. Finally awake, are we?” The woman croons. She runs her nails around Stiles’ neck and her fingers close tightly around his throat. Stiles feels her fingers link as she squeezes her hands tighter and tighter. Gasping for breath, Stiles thrashes about. His hands are scrabbling for any purchase on the woman’s body, his knees knocking together as he strains to get away from the chair he’s tied to, as well as the woman squeezing the life out of him inch by inch.

Dots of black are starting to dot Stiles’ periphery, his neck arches as he tries to draw breath into his lungs. The woman giggles softly in his ear, her lips brushing the shell of his ear and finally, finally, her fingers loosen a fraction and Stiles gasps and wheezes. His chest is expanding rapidly as Stiles pushes the darkness away and coughs.

“We’re going to have so much fun with you little Spark. We’re going to pull that Spark from your body and leave your skin a husk of what you once were. Maybe we’ll even be able to use you for firewood.” The woman titters and giggles at what she finds to be a very funny joke.

“Fuck yo-“ Stiles begins, but the woman grabs Stiles’ mouth in her thin hand and swings around to land on his lap. Stiles can feel that she’s not wearing anything underneath her cliché black cloak, as her thighs spread. She inches her cloak up her bare legs and there’s just enough light coming from a couple lamps off to the side, that Stiles can see the creamy skin of the woman’s thighs.

Stiles can only see the outline of her face and make out that she has long, dark hair. She slides her unoccupied hand between her thighs and underneath her cloak. She pulls her hand back and smears her fingers over Stiles’ lips. Stiles struggles and tries to pull away, but the woman just laughs.

“Fuck me, little Spark? I’m sure your Alpha boyfriend wouldn’t like that very much.” Her teeth glean in the dim light. Stiles stills momentarily. The woman’s essence still lingers on his lips and Stiles feels himself grow nauseous. 

Somewhere, a door squeaks open and the woman lifts her head to stare, in what Stiles can only assume, the door off to his left.

“It is time.” A deep male voice declares. The woman grins sharp and violent. She squeezes Stiles’ jaw once and lifts herself off of his lap and pads barefoot out of the room. Stiles can hear some murmuring, but he cannot make out exactly what is being said.

The door closes and Stiles swallows in near-relief at being alone. The blow comes as a surprise to him. His head spins and his eardrum pops violently. The punch from the left makes the chair, and Stiles, topple over. Stiles’ weight lands on his right shoulder and Stiles groans in pain. He feels a strange pop and his shoulder burns. His fingers tingle as his chair is righted. What follows is a flurry of slaps and punches, not only to his face, but to his arms, legs and abdomen.

In the rare moment of reprieve, Stiles hangs his head and breathes shallowly. His lungs rattle and his ribs are in agony. Stiles can feel blood drip from his nose onto his jeans and the blood running from his mouth make a drip-drip-drip sound on his shirt. Stiles feels his head pulled back by his hair, and Stiles is in enough pain, that he doesn’t even flinch at the pull. Stiles can’t see anything, except an outline. The stance suggests that it is a man, but he cannot be sure.

Stiles feels his eyes grow like saucers at the sharp glean of a knife. It’s a small thing, almost like a pocket knife, but no matter how small the blade, it can still inflict enough damage.

The first cut is on his cheek and Stiles cries out. His body is in agony and his cheek burns. The second is a long cut from his jaw, down his neck and only stops underneath his right collarbone. Stiles thrashes about and howls in pain. There’s another punch to his face, right on the cut on his cheek. 

A voice cuts through the thumping and screams, “Alright, you’ve had your fun. Bring him. We need to get started.” It is a different woman this time. She sounds younger than the other woman. The form above Stiles grunts, and he’s nearly 100% sure that it is a man.

There’s a hand around his throat, squeezing slightly, as the bindings around his hands and feet are cut. He’s pulled to his feet and yanked by his arm in the direction of the door. Stiles’ eyes are swollen, he’s pretty sure his right shoulder is dislocated and that a few of his ribs are broken. He stumbles and trips over his own feet. Stiles suddenly feels like a new-born bambi and practically stumbles blindly along.

The hallways turn left and right and left again. Stiles cannot keep up, when he is suddenly pushed through a door on his right. Stiles stumbles and loses his balance. He drops down onto his knees and tries to suck in a few breaths through the sharp and constant pain in his chest. Stiles hears someone swearing, but he doesn’t follow the conversation. He’s so tired and is on the brink of closing his eyes, when he’s yanked to his feet again and pushed onto a cold cement slab. His arms and legs are shackled again and Stiles yanks as hard as he can on the shackles.

“Now my little Spark, are you ready?” The woman whispers. The chanting starts and Stiles starts heating up. The warm sensation starts in his feet and travels up his body. The heat increases to the point where Stiles is no longer moaning in pain, but screaming in agony. 

Stiles blacks out, just as the chanting turns to screaming.

 

:::

 

Derek slams into Deaton’s clinic, Scott right behind him. Deaton has three separate old tomes open around him, and he flicks between the tomes as he makes notes on a separate sheet of paper. There’s a map spread out off to the left of him, on what Derek thinks might be an examination table. Derek stills next to Deaton and he tries to read whatever Deaton is writing down. Scott, however, is fuming and paces furiously up and down behind Derek.

“Seriously? We’re just standing around right now? We have to find him!” Scott fumes and pulls on his hair. Deaton doesn’t say a word.

“Derek? Oh my God, are you fucking kidding me?” Scott yells. Derek thinks he might be close to a mental breakdown. Derek finds that he might not be far behind Scott. Derek clenches his fists to force his claws to push into the meat of his skin, instead of slam down on the table and yell in Deaton’s face until the older man reacts.

“Stop.” Deaton suddenly snaps. The force of it is enough to make Scott stop dead in his tracks and slump down in the nearest chair. With elbows on his knees, Scott’s head falls into his hands and his shoulders shake. No sound comes from him. Derek moves silently over to him, and rests his blood-stained hand on Scott’s shoulder. Derek might not be a man of many words, but he knows exactly what Scott is feeling. He’s been there himself where everything you know is slowly crumbling around you and there’s nothing that you can do about it. Derek’s silent show of camaraderie doesn’t appear to have any effect, but he does notice that Scott’s shoulders shake a little less.

The silence that follows is eerie, tense and thick with emotional turmoil. Deaton occasionally turns a page on one of his tomes, keeps scribbling notes. After what feels like an eternity, Deaton finally speaks.

“I need three things.” Deaton commands, slowly straightening. Both Derek and Scott look up immediately and they tense even more, if that was possible at all.

“Anything, anything.” Scott nearly shouts. He’s jittering, almost vibrating out of his seat.

“I need something that belongs to your friend. Along with that, I need the blood of a family member.” Deaton glances over at the thickest tome, hums and taps something with his pointer finger.

“And?” Scott prompts. Deaton turns toward Derek. His hesitance to speak is almost tangible.

“I need the blood of the Alpha. The land will not help us if the one who commands it, doesn’t allow it.” Scott frowns and turns to stare at Derek.

“So I take it that you know where to find the Alpha?” Scott questions. When neither Derek nor Deaton react, Scott prompts, “Well?”

Derek scratches his neck awkwardly. “I’m the Alpha.” He tells Scott quietly. Scott’s eyebrows rise and Derek fears that they might get tangled in the floppy hair that falls over his forehead.

“Well, split a fucking vein then. You’ve slept with him enough times that saving him shouldn’t be an issue.” Scott demands, managing to get a jab in as well. Derek clenches his jaw and refuses to rise to the bait.

Scott digs through his pockets, before pulling out a battered flip-phone. He thrusts the phone at Deaton anxiously. “It’s Stiles’ phone. I found it in his car.”

Deaton takes the phone with two protesting fingers and drops it on the map. Scott then holds out his arm and Deaton looks at him with a blank expression. Derek has known the older man long enough to recognise the small hints of confusion displayed on the ex-emissary’s face.

“We grew up together. We’re both only children, and we’re the only brothers that we are ever likely to have.” Scott says when silence is all that follows. He shakes his arm in front of Deaton. The older man grabs Scott’s wrist and nods.

“Well, the spell doesn’t specifically say that you must be related by blood,” Deaton mutters, almost like he’s talking to himself. He leads Scott over to the examination table and pulls his arm over the map. He produces a knife from somewhere and swiftly cuts into Scott’s forearm. Scott hisses as Deaton turns his arm and squeezes around the wound to ensure that enough blood falls onto the map. The wound heals slowly until only a smear of red-pink blood remains.

Scott stands back and wipes his arm off on his t-shirt. He turns his brown eyes and crooked jaw on Derek. Derek steps forward, and places a neat cut on his own forearm, before imitating Deaton’s movements, by turning his arm and dripping his blood slowly onto the map. Derek’s wound heals quicker than Scott’s did, which tells Derek that Deaton’s knife must be pure silver. Though not deadly to werewolves, silver annoys the hell out of the skin and causes wounds to heal much slower than would be expected. Derek doesn’t expect anything less from Deaton. The man has been around werewolves since he was but a child, and a little precaution goes a very long way.

Derek takes a step back, and then another, until he feels one of the sinks press against his lower back. Deaton cracks his knuckles and leans over the map. He rests his weight on the table, next to the map. His eyes are closed and his breathing slows. Derek feels the hair on his arms and on the back of his neck, stand on end. It is almost like the way his body reacts when Stiles is close. The smell of magic permeates the air slowly. The smell of cinnamon and coffee and a bitterness of medication and boy sweat crawls into Derek’s nose and his mouth nearly waters. Stiles’ smell will never get old, Derek decides. He inhales deeply and tips his head back. His mouth opens slightly and he tastes the air. Derek is pretty sure that he can taste Stiles’ skin and his come on the tip of his tongue.

Derek feels his wolf crawl to the surface as his claws push through the skin on his fingers and his eyes turn their dark carmine red, like a neon sign. Derek doesn’t notice that the electricity that always accompanies magic use has dissipated and that Scott and Deaton are staring at him. Derek lowers his head and forces himself to take a few deep breaths, almost like he is familiarising himself with Stiles’ scent all over again.

It does, however, take Derek a few minutes to force his wolf back down. He feels his claws retracting and his eyes fading back to their green-grey hue. He glances at Scott, who is staring at Derek open-mouthed. Deaton is looking at the map, which Derek forces himself to move toward. Stiles’ phone is still on the edge of the map, but the blood, Derek and Scott’s blood, mixes and moves in a slow circle around a certain downtown area of Beacon Hills.

“You’ll be looking for somewhere where they will not be interrupted or stumbled upon.” Deaton says, to cover the awkwardness of whatever the hell just happened to Derek. Scott is still staring at Derek.

“Like a warehouse?” Derek asks, peering at the map. “I haven’t been back long enough to get to know the town again, but from what I remember, that area used to be part of the industrial sector of town. Most of that area would be primarily abandoned factories or warehouses.” 

Deaton nods in ascent. He picks up Stiles’ phone and hands it back to Scott. Scott, who finally snaps out of whatever has befallen him, takes the phone and shoves it into his pocket.

“Thank you.” Derek mumbles quietly on his way out the door. Deaton doesn’t say anything as the surgery door swing closed behind Scott and Derek.

 

:::

 

“Why are you staring at me?” Derek growls. He’s checking the street names and speeding past when it isn’t the street that he’s looking for. Scott shakes his head and stares back out of the windscreen.

“It’s just, dude, you know you were like, growling and howling, right?” Scott says, making a point of it not to look Derek in the eye, when Derek turns to gape at Scott. He’s about to deny it, when Scott interrupts him, “Don’t even try dude. You totally were and it was far too weird for words. You smell like him too, you know? Stiles, I mean. You smell like Stiles and it’s weird, because there’s no trace of his scent anywhere, you said so yourself.” Scott leans forward to get a look at the passing boards.

“I don’t-“ Derek begins, but cuts himself off. He doesn’t understand it any more than Scott clearly doesn’t. Derek spots the street that he’s looking for and takes a hard left, Scott thumping against the passenger door and swearing slightly.

“If I wanted to do something nefarious, where would I be?” Derek asks himself.

“Warehouse up on 10th.” Scott answers immediately. Derek turns to him in confusion. “It’s big and dark. It has a lot of rooms that someone would have to search for, before they can find you.” Scott shrugs. Derek doesn’t even want to touch that with a ten foot pole.

Derek speeds down to the corner of 9th Avenue and cuts the lights of his rumbling Camaro. He parks a block away from the warehouse in question, before pulling his phone out and presses 3 on his speed dial. 

“Warehouse on 10th.” Derek says and ends the call. Scott guffaws. Derek wants to ask, but Scott beats him to it.

“You’re just as growly and commanding as Stiles said.” Scott smiles slightly, before frowning. “You think-“ he clears his throat, “you think he’ll be okay?”

Derek doesn’t want to answer Scott. He doesn’t want to give the kid hope that his best friend will be okay, when Derek isn’t even sure of it himself.

“Let’s go.” Derek growls and slides out of his car. Together they slip into the dark an inch their way toward the warehouse. They fumble slightly, but eventually find themselves inside the warehouse. It is dark but for werewolves the dark doesn’t mean shit. It isn’t difficult to find the people in the warehouse. There’s a faint chanting and excited breathing.

Derek pushes his arm across Scott’s chest to keep him from rushing off and fucking up any change they might have of getting Stiles back unscathed. That is, however, until Derek smells blood. Stiles’ blood. Derek feels his wolf clawing at the edges of his mind furiously. His wolf is growling and snarling, but Derek forces it back down. 

It’s the scream, however, that catapults Derek and Scott into action. They burst through the door that smells the most like Stiles’ blood, both in wolf-form. 

The scene that unfolds before them is like something out of a fucking nightmare. There are five people in long black cloaks with the hoods up and over their faces. There are candles on every surface and symbols painted all over the walls and the floor. Stiles is shackled to what looks like an altar with grooves on the sides, clearly meant to drain whatever liquid is spilt on it. The hooded figures stop chanting and their heads snap over to Derek and Scott.

The figure at the head of the altar, places long fingers on Stiles’ shoulders, and that’s when Derek takes his first good look at the younger man. His face looks like he went three rounds with the Hulk, with both eyes swollen and red, there’s blood coming from both his nose and running down his cheeks. His right shoulder looks strange and there’s a rattle to Stiles’ faint breath. The long cut down Stiles’ neck bleeds sluggishly and Derek feels himself growl louder and louder as the minutes pass.

“I knew you would come for him.” The figure, a woman, says lightly. She has an airy voice that Derek might find attractive, given that they managed to meet in any other situation. Now, however, Derek wants to leap forward and rip her throat out. With his teeth.

“Why’s that?” Derek forces himself to ask.

“You’re the Alpha. It is your duty to protect the frail and innocent,” her fingers wrap around Stiles’ throat and she squeezes, “little Sparks in your territory.” Derek can hear her sneer. She lets go of Stiles’ throat and flips her hood back, revealing a young woman with long hark hair. She isn’t remarkable, but it’s Scott’s gasp that attracts Derek’s attention.

“Ms Blake?” He asks. The woman titters and she grins. Derek feels a slight tremble of electricity and his mind tells him that this woman is far more dangerous than she wishes to appear.

“Oh, come now McCall. Don’t act so surprised.” She grins and giggles. The man on her right sighs and pulls his own hood down.

“Mr Harris?!” Scott nearly yells. “I knew you were a dick, but this?” The man, Harris – his mind supplies, turns a venomous glare on Scott.

“This is where you tell us about your evil plan.” Scott says, when there is just silence.

“Hmm, well, no. I’m not as idiotic as you high school brats seem to think.” Ms Blake sneers. She has something in her hand and Derek’s heart clenches when he sees that it’s a knife. “I’m just going to kill Stilinski here and suck the Spark right out of his corpse.” She starts muttering something and lifts the knife, clutching it with both hands.

The snarl that follows, vaults everyone into action. Derek and Scott start forward and there’s a blur of blonde hair, leather jacket and pale skin that storms the room and attacks the figures to Derek’s left and Scott’s right. They’re equal now, five sets of claws for five sets of magic users.

Derek knocks into Ms Blake and she drops the knife. Derek punches her, but she retaliates with a knee to his solar plexus. Derek grunts, but slams his claws into her naked thigh and flips her violently onto her back. She thuds to the ground, but is up within seconds. She jumps onto Derek, wrapping her thighs around his hips and switches between punching and scratching at Derek’s face and neck.

There are thuds and thumps, cries of pain and growls behind him as the smell of blood gushes forth and crawls up Derek’s nose. Derek growls and punches Ms Blake in the side, hearing two, maybe three ribs crack. He pushes his claws violently into the skin above her hips and throws her away from him. There’s blood in his eyes and dripping down his face, even as the cuts inflicted heal rapidly. 

Ms Blake thumps to the ground and scrabbles back. She flings something toward Derek, but he doesn’t mind it at all until his skin starts burning and an invisible force pushes him back. Then his mind slots into place. She cast a ring of mountain ash around herself. Derek growls and looks around himself for a moment. Four bodies litter the room and there is blood everywhere. Erica and Boyd help Isaac up and wipe the blood off of his brow. A momentary feeling of something flares in his chest, before he turns back to Ms Blake. She’s struggling onto her feet and Derek can see the wounds in her sides are slowly oozing blood. She’s healing herself, but she’s weak. That’s why she cast the mountain ash.

There’s a stutter of breath behind Derek and a fluttering of a heartbeat that slows a little more. Scott rushes over and starts bending the shackles to try and free Stiles. Ms Blake laughs breathily and she gulps in a wet breath.

“Little Spark is dying, big bad Alpha. You should go deal with that.” She grins. Blood stains her teeth red and it makes her look even more insane than she already is.

“Derek-“ Scott mutters. He manages to free Stiles and clutches his limp and bleeding body tightly to his chest. “He needs help. Something’s wrong. I think- he’s not breathing Derek!” Scott yells and the panic in his voice is thick enough to be cut with a knife.

He doesn’t have to think about it. Derek turns to his betas and growls, “I want her alive.” He turns on his heel and scoops Stiles’ broken body up and storms out of the room. Scott is right behind him and he’s muttering furiously. Derek doesn’t care enough to actually listen to what he’s saying. They reach the Camaro in record time and Derek growls at Scott to get in the backseat and hold Stiles up. 

He slides in behind the wheel and his car roars to life. He’s peeling down the street and to the hospital without a word.

“Where are you going?” Scott’s panicked voice asks.

“Hospital.” Derek growls.

“Dude, no! His dad is out of town and doesn’t know that Stiles was even missing. His dad doesn’t know anything about any of this. How the fuck do you plan on explaining why a man who looks like a serial murderer rushes in to the emergency room with a half-dead nineteen-year-old and me?!” Scott is yelling near the end.

“What the fuck do you suggest we do then?” Derek growls and tamps down on the urge to slam on the breaks to glare the shit out of the annoying teenager in his backseat.

“I don’t know!” Scot cries. Derek is sure he’d be clutching at his hair if his hands weren’t filled with his bloody best friend.

“Fuck,” Derek snarls. He tosses his phone back toward Scott’s head and grins viciously at the ‘ow’ that follows the thump. “Call Deaton. Tell him to meet me at my loft.” 

Derek sharply turns and speeds off in the opposite direction of the hospital.

 

:::

 

Derek’s hands are shaking. He’s scrubbing blood off of his hands and out from under his nails.

When they stopped at his loft, Deaton was already waiting. Scott cleared Derek’s dining room table with a swipe of his arm, sending Isaac’s course work all over the floor. Derek placed Stiles down as gently as possible, but Deaton pushed him away and ordered him to get a bowl of hot water and a shit load of cloths. The older man got to work then.

Derek grips the edge of the sink as he recalls how Stiles stopped breathing and his heart stopping twice. Between Deaton, Derek and Scott, they managed to bring him back from the brink every single time.

Deaton suggested that the ritual Ms Blake was trying to complete, had sucked enough life-force out of Stiles that he would have been dead if they hadn’t gotten there when they did. Derek doesn’t want to think of what could have happened, he doesn’t want to think about a fucking what if…

Stiles is sleeping on Derek’s bed. His wounds are clean and slathered with an antibiotic salve. The image of Stiles on Derek’s sheets is so vastly different from the image of a sweaty, moaning Stiles. 

Scott is crouched at the end of the bed, his hand clutching Stiles’ between both of his hands.

“My mom will be home soon,” Scott says without even looking up at Derek hovering in the doorway. 

“Go home.” Derek finally says, “I was planning on looking after him anyway.” Scott glances up at Derek and the worry in his eyes is clear and bright enough that the man in the moon would be able to see it.

“Okay.” Scott whispers, looking back at Stiles. He squeezes Stiles’ hand once, before getting up and making his way to Derek’s bedroom door. Before leaving, Scott squeezes Derek’s shoulder, mimicking Derek’s earlier show of silent comfort.

“Thank you.” He whispers and slips out of the door. He’s down the stairs and the hall within seconds. The door snicks closed moments later. Derek stands at the foot of his own bed, just staring at the frail boy. Stiles’ cheek has butterfly bandages on and the gash down his throat is salved to high hell. Deaton managed to stitch the skin closed, assuring Scott that there wouldn’t be a scar. Derek has a niggling feeling that Deaton used some of his ailing magic to help the young man.

Derek helped Deaton to set his dislocated arm. They bandaged his fractured ribs and patched the various cuts and bruises that litter his pale body. His wrists and ankles are swollen red and the skin is broken. Deaton wrapped his wrists with bandages. Derek is almost too afraid to touch any part of Stiles, lest he touch some other part of Stiles that was bruised all over.

Derek feels his anger rise and his wolf is clawing at his skin. Isaac had texted Derek earlier that they managed to capture Ms Blake. She’s in the abandoned train depot and they’ll guard her, two at a time until Derek is ready to…deal with the situation.

Derek walks around the bed and sinks to the floor next to Stiles. He gingerly clutches Stiles’ hand in his and the veins on his arms turn black as he draws Stiles’ pain. Stiles doesn’t move, just like he didn’t move when he drew his pain earlier. He was still as Scott drew his pain and even when Deaton slammed his fist down on Stiles’ chest to restart his heart. 

Derek sits for minutes, hours, until he doesn’t even feel himself fall asleep.

 

:::

 

Stiles is deathly pale and unnaturally still for three days. Deaton checks on Stiles twice a day and Derek and Scott take turns sitting with Stiles and draw his pain. They drip-drip-drip minute drops of water into Stiles’ mouth and his wounds heal slower than slowly. The gash on Stiles’ neck is almost completely healed, and Derek feels an odd sense of thankfulness that Deaton would drain some of the little power he still has left, to heal a young man he doesn’t even know.

Early on day three, Stiles groggily opens his eyes. Derek and Scott shoot out of their respective seats and crowd around the bed. Derek is on the phone, already calling Deaton, as Scott tries to talk to Stiles.

“Stiles? Buddy? Can you hear me?” Scott sounds panicked and relieved at the same time. He looks like it is taking everything out of him, not to shake Stiles into responding.

Stiles groans and turns his head into Derek’s pillow. “I feel like road kill,” Stiles mutters. His voice is hoarse and it sounds like he would rather be sleeping than talking.

“Well, yeah, of course you do. Apparently you’re hot stuff and all the ladies want your beef,” Scott jokes and Stiles laughs lightly. His laugh turns into a cough and Scott helps him sit up and moves to sit behind Stiles on the bed, as Derek reaches for the full bottle of water on the end table. Scott helps Stiles take a few sips of water and Stiles hums in relief. He leans back into Scott, resting his head on Scott’s shoulder.

Stiles opens his eyes slightly and a soft smile plays on his bruised and busted lips. He mouths ‘thank you’ at Derek and reaches for Derek’s hand. Derek sinks down next to the bed again, clutching Stiles hand in his as they wait for Deaton.

Derek runs his lips over Stiles’ knuckles and he feels Stiles’ finger trail lightly over the stubble on his cheek. Derek is caught somewhere between laughing and crying. He does neither.

 

:::

 

It is just past 2am. Derek is in his kitchen, drinking a glass of orange juice. Erica left the newspaper on the kitchen counter. The headline has been highlighted and Derek just smiles. ‘High School English Teacher Found Dead’. He doesn’t need to read the article to know that the police suspect murder, even though she was found hanging from one of the rafters in her own apartment. Derek bites his lip as he remembers Ms Blake’s plan for Stiles. He’s almost pissed with himself for only hanging her and not beating the ever-loving shit out of her, like she had her lackey beat Stiles. Derek’s mother, however, didn’t raise him like that. He would never be able to do that to any woman.

There’s a knock on his front door and Derek frowns. Who the hell would be coming over for a social call at this time of night? The moment Derek gets to the door, though, the smell of cinnamon tickles at his nose and Derek yanks the door open. Stiles is in a pair of sweats and an oversized hoodie.

“Hey.” Stiles mumbles, waving slightly. Derek stares for a moment, but steps back to let Stiles in. “It’s late, I know,” Stiles begins, but Derek cuts him off.

“Are you okay?” Derek asks, almost desperately. He has to force himself not to reach out and pull Stiles into him.

“I- yeah, I’m okay.” Stiles smiles faintly. He pulls the sleeves of his hoody down over his wrists and Derek knows exactly what he’s covering up. Before Derek can stop himself, he reaches out and runs his fingers down Stiles’ neck, where the long gash used to be. The skin is smooth and pale once more. There’s no scar to mar the beautiful skin and Derek finds himself feeling incredibly thankful.

“I saw the paper,” Stiles begins. It’s like a bucket of ice water is tossed over Derek’s head. He yanks his hand away as quickly as possible. “a-and I just wanted to say thank you. Scott told me what happened, and how you helped him. He told me that you found me and that you saved my life.” Stiles exhales harshly and he lifts a shaky hand to clutch at Derek’s black t-shirt. “Thank you,” Stiles mumbles and steps into Derek’s space.

Derek tries to control himself, clutching his hands tightly by his sides. He doesn’t want to touch Stiles, because Derek knows himself. If he touches Stiles, he knows he wouldn’t be able to stop and this isn’t what either of them need right now.

Stiles kisses the corner of Derek’s mouth, pulls back and kisses Derek again. Derek closes his eyes and wills himself not to react, but Stiles is irresistible. Derek cannot abstain from Stiles for long. Derek gently kisses Stiles back and places his hand lightly on Stiles’ neck, pressing his fingers into Stiles’ hair. Stiles pulls back and bites his lip lightly.

“I might have some issues with what happened to me,” Stiles whispers against Derek’s lips. “but right now, I just want to be with you.”

Derek kisses Stiles again. Stiles’ hands slide up underneath Derek’s shirt and trails his fingers up Derek’s sides lightly. Derek yanks his shirt off and reaches for Stiles’ in return. Stiles lifts his arms as Derek slides his shirt up and over his head, before dipping his head and sucking one of Stiles’ nipples into his mouth. He flicks his tongue over the pebbled nipple and Stiles moans lightly.

“Bed,” Stiles demands, “come on, bed. Now.” Stiles pushes on Derek’s shoulders and they herd each other up the stairs, stopping briefly to make out against the railing of the stairs, against a wall and finally, Derek pushes Stiles onto his back. Stiles stretches back on Derek’s bed. Derek unties Stiles’ sweatpants and urges Stiles to lift his hips. Stiles pulls Derek down on top of him. Derek kisses Stiles’ neck, where the gash used to be, down over Stiles’ collarbone and down his chest. There’s a faint blue bruise over Stiles’ heart and Derek kisses it reverently. 

He trails kisses down the bruises on Stiles’ sides, over his belly button, before biting gently at his hipbones. Derek sucks Stiles’ dick into his mouth, but Stiles pulls on Derek’s hair.

“Not that your mouth isn’t like, the Holy Grail, but I need you in me. Please.” Stiles whines. Derek grins and slides closer. He slides his naked skin over Stiles’ and the younger man moans even louder. “When- when did you- fuck-“ Stiles cuts himself off as Derek slides a lubed finger over his hole. Derek slides a finger inside Stiles, slowly pumping in and out, in and out, until Stiles is loose enough for a second finger. Derek stretches Stiles’ hole open slowly and he makes a point of brushing against Stiles’ prostate over and over and over again.

Stiles moans high and breathy, and pleads with Derek. “Please, please, oh fuck- please-“ Derek moans softly and slides closer to Stiles. Derek slides Stiles’ thighs over his own, brushing his dick over Stiles’ hole. Derek’s dick catches at the rim of Stiles’ hole, and Stiles moans even louder. Derek slides himself home, and Stiles arches his back. Derek leans forward, resting his forearms next to Stiles’ head.

Stiles lifts his legs higher, knees pressing against Derek’s hips as his hands claw at Derek’s back. Stiles’ hands alternate between clutching at Derek’s neck, his shoulders, shoulder blades, back, sides before resting on his ass, digging his fingers into Derek’s cheeks. Stiles lifts his hips and meets Derek’s thrusts, before wrapping his legs around Derek’s lower back and clutching at Derek’s biceps. Stiles uses his grip on Derek’s arms and the clench of his legs on Derek’s hips, to push and pull himself up and into Derek’s slow and steady thrusts.

Derek’s abs slide over Stiles’ dick repeatedly and slowly enough to promise a long and torturously delicious orgasm. Derek feels Stiles’ hole clench around his dick in spasms. He’s pretty sure that Stiles doesn’t even know that his orgasm is building. Derek uses the leverage of his planted hands, he moves closer to Stiles and plants his knees and changes the angle of his trusts directly onto Stiles’ prostate.

Stiles howls and his hole clenches almost painfully tight around Derek’s dick. Stiles comes thick white ropes of come over his chest, smearing his come onto Derek’s chest with their close proximity.

Derek feels a tingling and an intense pressure spreading from the base of his spine as his dick pulses and he comes inside Stiles. The base of his dick expands, locking Stiles tightly to Derek’s dick. The pressure of the knot inside of Stiles’ tight hole makes Stiles moan and shudder with overstimulation. Derek doesn’t notice, however, still caught up in the fantastic orgasm and the feeling of coming inside of Stiles’ hot hole.

His knot pulls on Stiles’ rim when Derek comes down and tries to pull out. Stiles moans softly and squirms. Derek’s mind goes blank and he wants to curse himself. He promised himself that he wouldn’t do this to Stiles, but they were both so high on pleasure and completely out of it, that neither of them realised that it is happening. 

“Fuck.” Derek sighs and rests his forehead against Stiles’. Stiles’ arms drop slightly from their death grip on Derek’s neck and his breathing evens out. Derek smiles softly, running his fingers lightly over Stiles’ face.

They can talk about this later. Right now, though, Derek is just happy to have Stiles here, in his bed, and most of all, he’s so fucking happy that Stiles is alive. His heart gives a squeeze and warmth spreads through his body, but Derek ignores the sensation and denies the possibility of its meaning.

Derek is clearly the Pharaoh of Egypt, seeing as he owns the biggest, most expensive boat on the river of denial.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Laura says something, possibly the punch line to a joke, and Stiles leans back in his chair, his head falling back and neck arching as he laughs right from his core. Derek’s mind goes fuzzy as he remembers how he and Stiles first met and exactly how Stiles laughed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. Work started again, and I've been pretty busy. 
> 
> Beta'd by the fabulous msT, but I feel pretty dumb and I don't exactly know how to link it here. If anyone has any suggestions, please let me know.
> 
> Let me know what you think about this chapter. Comments + kudos are appreciated.

Derek’s knot went down somewhere during the night, but Stiles managed to sleep right through it. Derek’s dick slipped out and his come spilled from Stiles’ hole and over his balls. Some rivulets even make their way down his thighs, but Derek cannot help but stare. He bent down and ran his tongue up and over his come on Stiles’ skin, pushing some of his come back inside of Stiles’ hole lightly, but he lapped the rest of it up. He groaned at their combined taste, but before his dick could even think about getting hard and possibly fucking into Stiles while he slept, Derek shut the thought down immediately. He managed to lean against Stiles, pulling his lithe body against Derek’s and he, too, fell fast asleep.

When Derek blinks his eyes open, he still feels slightly groggy and feels torn between going back to sleep and pulling himself out of bed. He stretches himself out on his back and scratches the thick trail of hair underneath his navel. Something tells Derek to turn his head, and while he’s still under the beguiling influence of sleep, Derek turns his head and spots Stiles stretched out on his stomach, with one arm curled underneath the pillow and his face plastered against the soft downy feathers of Derek’s pillow. His mouth is slightly open and Stiles huffs a little in his sleep.

The feeling of waking up to Stiles’ mole dotted face makes something twist painfully in Derek’s chest. He leans over and runs his finger lightly over Stiles’ cheek, switching to his thumb and rubs the pad of his thumb lightly over the moles that are splattered over his cheek and jaw. He slides the rest of his hand down Stiles’ neck and rests his thumb lightly on Stiles’ pulse point. He can feel and hear the soft fluttering thump-thump-thump of Stiles’ heart.

Derek’s breath hitches in his throat and he has to get up. He has to flee. Derek extracts himself from the bed, his hand leaving Stiles’ skin at the last possible moment. He staggers to the bathroom and closes the door behind him with a soft click. Derek leans back against the door and the cool wood feels wonderful against his naked skin. Derek choppily moves toward the sink and rests his hands on the edges of the sink, his head dropping down between his shoulders.

He focuses on breathing, pulling oxygen in and out, in and out of his lungs. He focuses on not wolfing out, because that is Derek’s default mode when he is stressed out, or angry, or when he just needs to get away. Derek feels anxious and nervous and he feels like jittering out of his skin. He closes his eyes and squeezes them tightly shut until white spots dot the blackness.

Ever since meeting Stiles, Derek’s world has felt off kilter. Right from the moment where Stiles flirted shamelessly with him while he was tending the bar, to the night where he fucked Stiles for the first time and the time after that, and the time after that too.

But this fiasco with Stiles getting kidnapped and Derek jumping in feet first into the rescue effort, he never once questioned his motives for helping Scott find his best friend. That hits Derek harder than waking up next to Stiles. He never once questioned why he was helping at all, not once. He didn’t wonder why Scott would rather ask Derek for help, than go to the authorities, or fuck, asking his own pack to save one of their own. 

Derek opens his eyes and he’s suddenly back in the old train depot, Jennifer Blake tied to a chair with handcuffs and one of Deaton’s special signs painted on her chest, to dampen her magic and protect the wolves in the room. Derek was leaning against the far wall, nearly enshrouded in darkness. Erica was perched on a packing crate, leaning back on her right hand and inspecting the nail polish on her left hand. Her thick blonde hair is draped down her back and her eyes are the darkest black that Derek has ever seen them.

Boyd is leaning against the same crate that Erica is perched on, his hip pushing against the sharp edge. He has his arms crossed over his chest and his leather jacket strains against his broad shoulders. Isaac entered a little later, after having seen Deaton back to his car before making his way back into the depot. He stopped next to Derek, whispering softly, “We’re alone,” to Derek before moving to stand on Erica’s other side. 

The moment that Isaac is leaned comfortably against the packing crate, Erica jumped off and stalked toward Jennifer. She twisted her body to the side and delivered a stinging slap to Jennifer’s cheek. Blake’s eyes startled open as her head snapped to the side. She turned her head slowly back toward Erica, glaring daggers at her, and Derek smirked at how Jennifer so clearly wants the spell she just uttered to hit its mark.

“Oh, you’re awake.” Erica grinned maniacally and crossed her arms in front of her chest, mimicking Boyd’s stance.

“You know that interrupting the ritual isn’t going to stop us from trying again.” Jennifer sneered. There’s a red palm print forming on Jennifer’s cheek, and Derek was sure that if he bothered to look closer that he would most certainly be able to see the light void on the ring finger of the bruise forming on Jennifer’s skin, from where Erica accidently cut her finger when she was a child.

“Oh, we don’t doubt that for even one second.” Erica sneered right back. Jennifer opened her mouth to probably spit another insult at Erica, when Derek finally spoke.

“Where did you get the spell?” He questioned. Blake’s head turned minimally to regard the alpha, but she just grinned toothily in lieu of answering his question. A quiet minute follows, and then another, and another. Erica turned fully toward Derek and grinned, bouncing on the balls of her feet.

“Can we?” Erica asked Derek. She looked like a small child being given a brand new toy. Derek nodded tersely. Erica clapped her hands together and turned to Boyd and Isaac. “Shackle her hands to the armrests and her feet to the legs of the chair.”

Boyd and Isaac glanced at each other and did as instructed. Jennifer hissed and tried to strike out at Boyd and Isaac when they moved her arms from behind her back. They managed to get her arms and legs shackled, Boyd coming away with a shiner against his forehead, but it healed within seconds. Isaac was bitten on the cheek, but only a crust of blood remained when both men stepped away and back over to the packing crate.

Erica pulled a pair of pliers out of nowhere and grinned demonically at Jennifer. She stepped closer and crouched in front of Jennifer, out of possible striking range, but close enough to still deliver blows as needed.

“Where did you get the spell?” Derek asked again.

“From your mother’s pussy,” Jennifer spat. Derek cocked an eyebrow and Erica grabbed Jennifer’s hand tightly. She snapped the pliers a few time, before setting it against her thumb nail and yanked as hard as she could. Jennifer cried out in shocked pain, screaming as loudly as she could. Her breathing sped up as her nail was ripped straight off of her finger. The force with which Erica performed the action landed a few minute drops of blood on her cheek. She dropped the nail to the ground and grinned again.

Jennifer was wheezing and writhing in pain. Blood steadily ran from her mutilated thumb and the steady “Ah, ah, ah’s,” slipping from between Jennifer’s lips echo through the depot. 

“Where did you get the spell?” Derek asked again.

“Fuck you!” Jennifer yelled. The smell of her anger flooded the depot, but the smell of pain was steadily overwhelming the anger. Erica simply extended the claws on her right hand and looked Jennifer straight in the eye when she pressed the sharp thumb nail into the bloodied flesh. Jennifer screamed and writhed in the chair, arching her back and the saltiness of tears flooded the room.

“Deucalion!” Jennifer yelled, “Deucalion!” Her breath was choppy and she wheezed in agony. Erica’s thumb retracted and Jennifer slumped in the chair. Her shoulders heaved with her breathing. 

Derek’s mind reeled at the mention of Deucalion. Deucalion’s the leader of the alpha pack, who just spread terror in their wake. If Deucalion gave Jennifer the spell to suck the Spark out of a Spark, then there’s some serious shit that will go down. Deucalion never did anything without having planned it out to perfection. Derek would never know whether Deucalion meant for Jennifer’s ritual to fail, but he pushed it from his mind and focused on getting more information from Jennifer.

“What use does Deucalion have for a Spark’s energy?” Derek asked. His nails pressed into his biceps as Derek tried to maintain his control.

“I don’t know,” Jennifer breathes. Erica grins and sets her pliers on Jennifer’s pointer finger, and the woman backtracked quickly. “He- he’s blind. He wants the energy to destroy those who caused his blindness. He lost a chunk of his power when he lost his eyesight, so he’s willing to do anything to get his power back.” Jennifer stuttered, but Derek could see her force herself to give them the rest of the information out through her agony.

“Why Stiles?” Derek asked, ignoring the looks Isaac and Boyd shot at him. He needed to know why she chose Stiles.

“He has immeasurable power thrumming through his veins.” Jennifer panted, her eyes flicked nervously between Erica and Derek. “He’s something that hasn’t been around in a very long time. He has a connection to nature that most witches would kill for. His Spark is like a flame and he just needs something to turn it into a bushfire. He’s raw power, raw and untamed power that could unleash all of Deucalion’s fury.”

“He-“ Jennifer gulped and pulls in a wet sounding breath, “He’s so strong and he doesn’t even fucking know it,” Jennifer cackles as if she’s drunk. “I just got a little taste of the cinnamon electricity and he’s just fucking mouth-watering Derek.”

Erica’s punch landed solidly on Jennifer’s cheek and Derek can hear a few teeth break. Blood starts dripping from Jennifer’s mouth and she spits two teeth out, before she grinned like a maniac.

“There’ll always be someone after him Derek. You can’t protect him from everyone.” She smiled broadly and her teeth are stained red with her own blood.

“I don’t need to protect him from everyone,” Derek said as calmly as the anger in his chest will allow. “I just need to protect him from you.” He turned on his heel and left the depot. His betas will question and torture Jennifer Blake if they need to. 

If there’s no more valuable information to cross her lips, Erica will call Deaton back to come and heal Blake, before the final step of ending her life. She will no longer be allowed to roam the streets of Beacon Hills.

Derek shakes his head, the depot bleeding away from his mind. He’s still in his bathroom, hunching over the sink as of he’s about to be sick, but cannot bring himself to throw up in the toilet.

Derek takes a deep breath. He knows that he can’t wrap Stiles in cotton wool and protect him from everything bad in the world. Derek knows that he doesn’t have to though. Deaton already agreed to help Stiles train his Spark and develop his ability. Scott is always with him and follows him around like a puppy. Derek knows this, because Scott’s heartbeat and scent lingered outside of Derek’s front door for nigh two hours.

He steels himself and looks at his reflection in the mirror. He doesn’t look any different from yesterday or the day before that. He’s still the same Derek Hale, except he isn’t, not really. Derek doesn’t know whether that is a good thing or not, but he doesn’t linger on it, instead pushing himself away from the sink and stumbles out of the bathroom again.

Stiles is still where he left him and Derek slides back underneath the sheet. He splays his hand over the small of Stiles’ back, his pinkie finger trailing lightly up and down the little bit of flesh of Stiles’ crack that he can reach. Stiles snuffles in his sleep and Derek finds himself growing calm and he feels strangely comforted by the fact that Stiles is still in his bed.

Derek can still smell his come on Stiles’ body. The smell is stronger underneath the sheet, especially over (and inside) Stiles’ hole and down his thighs. He knows that Stiles’ hole is still puffy from being knotted as tightly as he was, but Derek still wants to dive down the sheets and run his tongue round and around and round Stiles’ swollen hole. Derek doesn’t do anything that he fantasises about. He leaves his hand where it is and rests his forehead against Stiles bicep, breathing his scent in.

 

::: 

 

Derek wakes up a few hours later and the bed next to him is empty. He reaches over and finds the sheets already cold. Derek frowns and feels like a complete idiot. How could he even remotely have expected Stiles to stay with him? Not that he wanted Stiles to stay.

He stretches and shakes his head. Derek pushes off of the bed and heads to the kitchen. Just outside of his bedroom door, Derek freezes. There’s laughter and voices coming from the kitchen and Derek can feel his hackles rise. He stumbles into the kitchen in haste and is horrified to find Stiles sitting at the counter and Laura in front of the stove.

Laura says something, possibly the punch line to a joke, and Stiles leans back in his chair, his head falling back and neck arching as he laughs right from his core. Derek’s mind goes fuzzy as he remembers how he and Stiles first met and exactly how Stiles laughed. Derek feels slight goosebumps rising on his arms as he stands there dumbfounded.

Laura’s eyes cut to him and there’s a glint in her eyes that Derek knows and would rather like to avoid as often as possible. “Well, look who has risen from the land of the living,” She teases and Stiles turns to look over his shoulder at Derek. His laughter tapers out into chuckles as he eyes Derek.

“Good morning,” Stiles says with that knee-buckling smile curving his cheeks.

“Uh, hi?” Derek feels confused. “Laura, what- what are you doing here?”  
“Cooking breakfast, baby bro,” She winks and turns back to the stove. She dumps something into the pan, and the smell of bacon sizzles into Derek’s nose.

“I can see that, but that doesn’t explain why you’re in my house.” Derek trails off and Laura flips him the bird over her shoulder.

“Don’t worry, Der-bear, your love life is safe with me.” Derek feels his eyes grow bigger than saucers and Stiles splutters and flails. He tips sideways and Derek moves, without realising it, and steadies Stiles with a hand on his bicep.

“Der-bear?” Stiles asks teasingly and Derek rolls his eyes. Laura laughs her braying laugh again and Stiles’ eyes crinkle in the corners. Stiles smiles softly and Derek likes that Laura can’t see it, because then the teasing won’t stop at all.

Laura finishes making breakfast and starts on the eggs, while Derek makes toast and turns the coffee machine on. There’s a slight reprieve to their bickering and the teasing, which Derek is thankful for. They all sit down at the dining room table, which is only used by Isaac anyway, and they eat in silence. Stiles retreats to take a shower and Derek does the dishes. Laura leans against the counter next to him with a dishrag in her hand. They don’t say anything for a few minutes, but Laura just stares at Derek until he growls at her.

“He’s nice.” It’s straight out of left field and Derek feels momentarily stunned. His hands still in the soapy water and turns to stare at her.

“Don’t give me that look.” She huffs and takes a plate from the drying rack.

“Why are you here?” Derek growls instead.

“I missed you and walked in on your precious boyfriend drinking juice from the carton. He yelped and dumped most of the juice on himself. I’m surprised you didn’t hear him.” She snipes.

“He’s not my boyfriend.” Derek mumbles.

“Fuck-buddy then.” 

Derek has missed his sister, but he sure as hell hasn’t missed her straight forwardness, which would always leave him feeling like a five-year-old boy standing in his mother’s garden with daisies clutched in his fat little fist as his mother scolded him and Laura laughed from the porch.

“Don’t talk like that about him.” Derek says softly. He knows she hears him, because she stops drying the mug in her hand and just stares at him.

“You like him?” Laura whispers. Derek doesn’t answer, but he can feel his ears turning beet red.

Stiles comes back into the kitchen, wearing Derek’s sweats and one of Derek’s henleys. Laura grins and barks out a laugh at the look on Derek’s face when he turns around to ogle Stiles. Derek wants to pounce over the table and fuck Stiles, but he refrains, gritting his jaw painfully.

“So Stiles, did Derek ever tell you the story of how he became alpha?” 

Derek drops the glass and roars Laura’s name. She just laughs at him, and winks at Stiles.

“Uhm, no?” Derek wants to plead with Laura, but she ignores him.

“Our entire pack died in a house fire that some insane bitch started, and the alpha spark was supposed to go to me, but smacked into Derek instead. Converse.” She tosses the rag at Stiles, grabs her bag and is out of the door before anyone can blink.

“I uh-“ Stiles begins, but trails off. Derek stares into the soapy water. He doesn’t even move when Stiles puts the dishrag down on the drying rack. They stand like than for a few minutes, before continuing to wash and dry the dishes. Derek packs them all away and Stiles migrates over to the couch. The sun streams in from the large bay windows and Derek’s breath catches in his throat when Stiles is haloed as an angel.

He moves over to the windows and sits down on the windowsill. He folds his arms over his chest and sighs, staring at his feet. Stiles pulls his legs underneath his body and waits.

“I was sixteen when my girlfriend killed my entire family. I didn’t realise why at the time, but she made it clear afterward that she hated all werewolves. Laura, Cora, my uncle Peter and I were the only ones who survived. Peter was in a coma for six years before he fully woke up for the first time, but instead of my mother’s alpha spark going to Laura or to Peter, it came to me. I don’t know why it came to me. I’m not very good at it anyway. Laura would have been better at it, but she’s made it clear that she doesn’t want it.” Derek scratches at his cheek and sighs.

“You’re wrong, you know?” Stiles says softly. Derek’s head snaps up and he stares at Stiles. “You’re a good alpha. Everyone has to learn how to be good at something, and you’re just learning, right?” Stiles pushes himself up from the sofa and comes to a standstill in front of Derek, between his spread thighs.

Derek wants to say something, wants to contradict Stiles, but just as he opens his mouth, Stiles continues, “Why did you knot me last night?” Stiles flushes as soon as he realises what he asked, but he too, folds his arms over his chest and stares at Derek.

“It, uh, only happens when an alpha’s wolf finds a, uh-“ Derek scratches his neck and mumbles, “a mate.” His face heats up. He can imagine how Stiles would turn away and take his things and storm out of his apartment and out of his life.

Instead, Stiles puts his hands on Derek’s cheeks and pulls his face up. He kisses his nose and whispers, “I like you too.”

:::


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys! Thank you so much for all of the kudos, comments and bookmarks. You are lovely!
> 
> Sorry for the delay, work has been killing me.
> 
> Please let me know what you think! Comments and kudos = ♡

Everything slows down after that. Stiles doesn’t visit for a while, but Derek is strangely okay with it. When Stiles does show up, it is at all hours of the night and they don’t have sex. Derek is strangely okay with that too. 

Laura comes over more, a lot more. She also keeps hinting at wanting to hang out with Stiles again, but Derek says no so many times, that he has to resort to using his alpha voice. Laura calls him constipated and ignores him. Erica laughs. Boyd smiles, but stays quiet and Isaac grins. Laura calls him a lamb on crack on account of the curly hair and what she calls ‘his face, dumbass’. Derek doesn’t question it. They’re his pack, but they drive him insane. Also, Stiles has met each of them in turn but doesn’t know them like Derek does and he would sincerely like to keep it that way.

Derek smiles and shakes his head, turning down the pasta aisle. He’s grocery shopping, because between Stiles’ random visits and the fact that he eats anything and everything in sight and adding his betas into the mix who generally eat like pigs, he’s out of food already. 

“’Scuse me,” Someone grumbles behind him. A hand, attached to an arm clad in the brown uniform that is distinctive to the sheriff’s department, comes past him and clasps a random packet of pasta.

Derek turns slightly and looks at an older man, hair greying moderately. His face is full of lines that speak of a life filled with long hours and a lot of stress. His eyes crinkle and he smells of Stiles. Derek’s wolf goes crazy and starts yipping madly. He has to bite his tongue not to sniff the air to fill his lungs with the scent of Stiles that clings to this man.

“Those taste like shit. You should rather use this one. It’s healthier, but tastes better.” Derek says, holding out the packet in his hand. He has no idea whether he’s right or not and he clearly knows that he’s talking a load of shit, but this man knows Stiles, and Derek wants to bask in his scent. He wants to roll in it, but he doubts that this man would like that.

“Yeah?” The man asks. He looks sceptical, but puts the packet in his hand back on the shelf.

“Yeah.” Derek echoes.

“My son would love this,” The man chuckles, “He’s been on my case about eating healthier.” He takes the proffered pasta from Derek’s hand and smiles broadly. “Sheriff Stilinski.” The man says, sticking his hand out at Derek. Derek looks at the proffered hand as if it’s going to bite him, but his mother didn’t raise a pussy, so he takes the hand in a solid grip and shakes the Sheriff’s hand like his mother taught him to.

The surname though, that makes Derek do a double take. It explains why Stiles’ scent is so strong on this man. This is Stiles’ father. Derek feels his eyes bulge slightly, because this sure as hell isn’t the right time to be meeting the parents. Even though the Sheriff totally doesn’t know that Derek fucked his son more times than the days that they’ve known each other. Derek sniffs slightly and StilesStilesStiles bombards his nose and wolf again, and Derek suddenly remembers that he has manners when the Sheriff gives him the side-eye when he doesn’t introduce himself.

“Derek Hale.” He echoes, introducing himself, because he has manners, damnit.

“Ah, yes,” The Sheriff nods, “I heard that the Hale’s were back in town. I would have come by to greet you and welcome you back, but no one knows where you live.” He shakes his head. “I’m sorry about your family. It was and still is a tragedy that affects everyone in Beacon County.” 

Derek feels the sympathy niggle at his throat and fights against the voice in his head telling him to run and sneer at this man’s sympathy, but he’s a grown man and he’s mourned for his family. Now he gets to be a grown-up and deal with his shit instead of growling at it. He still growls as much as he wants, shut up.

“Thanks.” Derek mumbles.

“Yeah,” The Sheriff says, scratching his forehead slightly. “You should, uh, come by some time. I know that your pack needs the Sheriff’s station behind you…” He trails off.

“I’ll think about it.” Derek says lamely.

“Alright.” The Sheriff says. He nods at Derek. “See you, son.” He smiles slightly and walks back down the aisle, Derek’s pasta in tow.

Derek sighs and grits his teeth. Stiles is going to kill him if he finds out that Derek just met his father and was pretty much a dick to him. He pulls his phone out and ignores how his fingers shake as he dials Laura’s number.

“Der-bear, what’s up?” Laura greets. Derek can sense that she’s smiling and he can feel a slight smile tug at his mouth.

“Pack night?” Derek grunts.

“Sure. Pizza or Chinese?” 

“Pizza.” Derek replies. They hash out the rest of the details and when Derek hangs up the phone, he’s still staring at pasta, but he feels marginally better. He sends a mass text to Isaac, Boyd and Erica. He stares at Stiles’ name on his contacts list. He thinks about texting Stiles, but the itch is still at the back of his throat and he dials Stiles’ number before he even thinks about it.

Stiles picks up on the third ring with a “Hey Derek.” 

“Hey.” Derek rubs at his neck and stares a hole in the pasta shelf in front of him. “We’re having a pack night tonight, so uh, I was wondering if you wanted to join us?” Derek suddenly feels incredibly nervous. Stiles never said anything about any sort of thing between them, aside from the occasional cuddles, make out sessions and sex marathons they had before Stiles was kidnapped.

“Yeah, I’d love to. Except I kinda already have something on with Scott tonight.”

Derek, however, faced with not seeing Stiles for another week, blurts before he thinks “Scott can come with you.”

“Really? Awesome!” Stiles’ bubbliness radiates through the phone and Derek grins despite himself.

Derek feels eyes on him, and looks around. He doesn’t see anyone and his grin turns to a frown as soon as the hair on the back of his neck stand on end with the penetrating stare of whomever he cannot locate.

“I’ll uh, talk to you later, okay?” Derek cuts Stiles’ rant off mid-sentence. He can feel Stiles’ confusion over the phone, but he refuses to discuss anything over the phone where anyone can overhear his conversation. He’s not willing to let Stiles become a target of some crazy-ass again.

Derek cuts the call after Stiles stutters out an ‘okay’. Derek finishes shopping and grabs extra sodas for his ravenous pack members, along with a couple of bags of chips and those peach candy things that Erica likes.

He pays for his purchases and the cashier helps him stack all of his purchases in his material shopping bags that Isaac forces him to use. If Derek didn’t have intimate knowledge of his dick, he would swear he could feel a vagina growing and replacing his dick.

It’s exactly the thing Erica says to him when he slides his front door open to find his entire pack, sans Laura, camped out in his living room. Derek arches an eyebrow at her and she cackles in response.

He walks to the kitchen and dumps all his bags on the counter, slowly packing everything out, until Isaac slips into the kitchen and silently packs the week’s groceries away as Derek packs them out. Derek smiles broadly at Isaac and Isaac’s cheeks turn rosy. Derek runs a hand through Isaac’s hair and settles the palm of his hand on his neck. Isaac lets out a slight purr and leans into the touch slightly.

Derek has a brief flashback of finding Isaac, when he was still living with his abusive asshole father. He was such a timid, quiet kid. He hardly ever spoke, jumped at loud noises, shied away from touch and whenever anything happened, Isaac was always ready and bracing for a punch or a slap.

Now, though, Isaac is calm as he is relatively quiet. He is snippy and sarcastic and has an extensive collection of scarves, which he never would have dared to bring into his father’s house. He told Derek once, when he was drunk off his ass on wolfsbane-infused whiskey, that scarves were easy ways for his father to get a hand on him or to choke him with it. Derek never said anything, just like he never said anything when Erica stormed into his apartment and shook him awake, pushed Derek out of his bed, still half asleep and over to Isaac’s house, where Isaac was locked in an old freezer and old man Lahey was out of town.

Derek didn’t say anything when he tracked the man to Atlantic City, where he beat the shit out of him and slit his throat as he promised him that he would take better care of Isaac than his old man ever did. Derek turned Isaac that night, after Isaac asked him in that long lost timid manner of his, and he’s been by Derek’s side ever since.

Derek secretly likes Isaac a little more than any of his other betas, but he would never say it to any of them. So instead, he slings an arm around Isaac’s shoulder and pulls him into his chest so that Derek can nuzzle his neck. Isaac preens and tucks his head underneath Derek’s chin. They stand like that for a few minutes, until Erica starts complaining loudly that she’s being left out. She drags Boyd behind her into the kitchen, and Isaac (and Derek by force) opens his arms for Erica to burrow into them. Boyd stands off to the side, trying to remain stoic and unaffected, until Derek smiles at him. Boyd squeezes into the impromptu hug.

They stand there for minutes, hours maybe, until Laura slams into the apartment and finds them in the kitchen. She huffs loudly and elbows them apart, muttering all the while, “Fucking oestrogen levels are enough to send my body into an early period.”

Erica laughs and helps Laura dig through the take-out bags to snag a carton of friend-rice. Laura smacks her on the hand and when Erica bares her teeth, right before a fight breaks out, there’s a knocking on the door. Everyone freezes and their heads snap over to the door. Laura lifts her head and sniffs the air. She grins like a maniac and Derek knows he’s in trouble. He mutters a bitter, “shut up,” and shuffles over to the door.

When he slides it open, Stiles and Scott are standing there, looking as awkward as possible. Stiles has his hands stuffed deep into his pockets, making his jeans slide down a delicious fraction to reveal a hint of skin. Derek wants to jump him and push him up against a wall, but there’s a shit load of people around and Derek really doesn’t want to relive the summer of 2010 over again.

Scott grins like a puppy, crooked jaw and all. Derek swears if Scott had a tail , it would be wagging and thumping right now.

“Stiles, Scott, hey. Come in.” Derek greets awkwardly and stands aside for them to enter. Scott has two plastic bags clutched in his hands, which are filled to the brim with chips and chocolates and an extra assorted amount of candy. Derek imagines that Stiles picked them all out, because he just looks like the person with the sweet-tooth in the ScottandStiles friendship. Derek can even see that he wrote their names as one word, because as Erica put it once, they are closer than ass-cheeks.

Stiles grins and ducks his head. Scott shuffles past them and follows his nose to the kitchen, where the conversation, eavesdropping and catcalling has been steadily increasing in volume. Stiles brushes up against Derek and even with his head still ducked down, Derek can see his cheeks bulge, signalling a small grin tugging at Stiles’ lips.

“Hey.” Stiles whispers. Derek doesn’t reply, instead he kisses Stiles, tugging on his chin and pulling him closer with a hand on his hip. Derek pulls away and Stiles’ eyes look a little hazy, causing Derek to grin.

The warm feeling in his chest squirms and spreads slightly. Stiles’ fingers trace over Derek’s chest, where the warm feeling twists inside of him, and Stiles says in awe, “I can feel my magic inside of you.” He looks up into Derek’s eyes, but shakes his head and pecks Derek on the lips again.

The warm feeling doesn’t go away, but even as the night progresses, Derek cannot help but think that this is the calm before the storm.

:::


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek slides beer after shot after weird-fruity-cocktail-thing across the bar, until the hair on the back of his neck stands on end and the overwhelming feeling of alpha floods the club.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd. All errors are mine. If you spot any, glaringly or otherwise, please let me know.
> 
> Please leave kudos and/or a comment. Your thoughts mean a lot and any concrit is more than welcome.
> 
>  
> 
> **Okay, you guys are allowed to hate me. I've been gone for a really long time, and I'm sorry for that. My life has been insane. I have a new job and I work in a different country now.  
> 2016 was a massive dick to me, but it is no excuse for leaving this story (and you guys) hanging.
> 
> :::

Derek is back at the club, helping out behind the bar again. Erica bullied him into wearing his tightest black t-shirt and a pair of jeans (Derek doesn’t even know where they came from) that are so fucking tight that Derek isn’t sure whether his balls or his calves are more blood-deprived. Erica just smirked when he complained and smacked him on the ass and sent him into the bathroom. Isaac sniggered, but it was quickly followed by a thump and a squawk of indignation. Turns out, Isaac’s punishment for finding Derek’s uniform for the night amusing, is having to wear an even tighter pair of pants. Derek is pretty sure Isaac hasn’t bent his knees in hours. Derek feels oddly content, busting his ass at the club, with his pack, with his Sti- with Stiles.

Things were, however, not meant to feel this way forever. It is something Derek has gotten eerily used to. In his experience when things reach a semi-happy plateau, the proverbial shit will hit the fan.

Rumours were circulating now, and Derek finds himself with less and less free time on his hands to even remotely spend with Stiles. It pisses him off a little, especially when he comes home in the early mornings, smelling Stiles and pack, but no Stiles around.

Derek slides beer after shot after weird-fruity-cocktail-thing across the bar, until the hair on the back of his neck stands on end and the overwhelming feeling of alpha floods the club. Derek’s eyes flick across the club before landing on the door. Every single werewolf in the club is suddenly on edge, going from zero to sixty within seconds. Shoulders stiffen and grip on beer bottles tighten, but they keep their cool, though. They all know that if they respond to every possible perceived threat, they’d all have been mowed down ages ago.

Derek’s betas, Erica at the bar with him, Boyd and Isaac who’re manning the door, shuffle incrementally closer to their alpha. They have no idea where this alpha came from, certainly wasn’t coming through the front fucking door, but they were all on alert. Even as shitty an alpha Derek thinks he is, he did manage to train them a little bit. The oppressive fucking vibe hangs around for an hour, then disappears as suddenly as it appeared. It’s almost like a collective sigh has been released from every werewolf in the club.

Later, after the last drunk supernatural-adjacent-something has been hustled out the door, Derek insists on counting stock, Boyd and Isaac checking the doors and windows, before each grabbing a broom to begin the nightly clean up. Derek can feel their apprehension, their near vibrating need to talk about what the fuck just happened, but Derek refuses out of principle. Whoever that was, is surely still hanging around and is most definitely listening. Erica is practically shaking where she’s counting the night’s money from the register. Derek sees her hands trembling as she counts out and writes up the next night’s float, before dividing the rest of the money and counting it. Derek clenches his jaw and finishes taking stock, before slipping on his gloves and closing the silver and wolfsbane laced cage over the alcohol. He pulls one glove off, after securing everything, and runs his hand down Erica’s neck. She relaxes visibly and shakes her head. Derek helps her count the tips, before splitting them between Erica, Boyd and Isaac. The boys have traded their brooms for mops and disinfectant that still manages to make Derek wrinkle his nose.

It feels weirdly domestic, Derek thinks. They’ve always tolerated each other, functioned as a pack, but they’ve never had this kind of pack cohesion before. They’ve always kind of just stuck around each other because they had nowhere else to go, and they made decent money at the club.

Derek knows he’s also kept them all at an arm’s length. He has his reasons, fear of rejection coupled with the fear of carrying the responsibility of their lives on his shoulders. He still carries it, but his reluctance is evident in everything he does. He doesn’t normally touch his betas, and they know that if Derek resorts to physical displays, shit is about to go down. Or he’s drunk.

Tonight though, they’re all tense and vibrating with caution. Never fear. Not his betas. They all share looks and Derek clears his throat.

“Let’s go home.” His betas all nod and they gather their belongings. They shuffle to the door, Derek standing guard while Boyd pulls the heavy sliding metal door closed, before locking it. He’s already wearing his gloves, so the wolfsbane infused bolt doesn’t burn his hands. 

They all share a look and with unspoken certainty agree to bunk at Derek’s for the night. The oppressive alphaalphaaplha feeling is back and Erica’s arms are covered in goose bumps that just do not seem to go away.

Something happens between walking from the door to Derek’s car. Derek isn’t sure what it is, but there’s a vibration at the back of his head, his ears ring slightly and things just sort of go fuzzy around the edges.

He can hear Erica screaming, Boyd howls and Isaac’s hand is gripping his wrist. Derek can feel the cold pebbled asphalt underneath his knees and he isn’t even sure when he sunk down on his knees. 

There’s an intense pain shooting through his chest, like someone is jabbing knives into his skin. Derek leans his head back to roar, but nothing comes out. He gasps at the intense pain searing through his veins.

Then things go dark.

:::

Derek wakes fuzzily, like when his brain wakes up before his body realises it, and for long seconds his body cannot move. His throat feels like someone took sandpaper to it. He tries to open his eyes, and the effort he has to extol in doing so, just does not feel worth it. His chest burns like hellfire and his body feels like lead. He knows Isaac is in the room with him. He can smell his distinctive scent, but it’s laced with fear. Isaac used to smell like this, at the beginning, when Derek just turned him. Isaac used to be scared of his own shadow back then, ducking whenever Derek raised his hand to grab a mug from the cupboards. Derek remembers how Laura forced him to be gentle with Isaac, to not be a gruff asshole all the time. Isaac relaxed somewhat, and crawled out of his shell. It’s been ages since Isaac was curled around Derek, but his arm is heavy on Derek’s bicep.

“Laura.” Isaac says, and the bed dips as he moves away. “Laura, he’s waking up!” Isaac sounds frantic and scared. Derek wants to run his hand over the mop of curls to reassure his beta that he’s fine. He’s just hung-over.

Except, no, he wasn’t drinking last night. He was working behind the bar, and.. Nothing. Derek wracks his brain, but he comes up short. He can’t remember what happened last night, except that it fucking hurt like hell.

Derek hears boots thundering on his hardwood floors, and his bedroom door is thrown open. It thunks quietly against the rubber doorstop, but there are hands on his arms and legs and the scent of pack nearly overwhelms him.

“Derek?” Laura’s voice sounds tense. He still can’t open his eyes. He turns his head slightly, but it feels like an eternity before it actually moves. He smells tears. Laura’s nails dig into his forearm and it stings as much as it did when they were children. He groans slightly.

“Help me pull him up.” Laura says to someone. The bed dips and Derek is being lifted, tipped forward. His head lolls forward, his chin digging into his chest. Someone slides in between his body and the headboard, arms circle his chest and he’s hoisted up and back. His back makes contact with the chest behind him, and there are thighs bracketing his hips. He doesn’t want to put effort into catching the scent of the beta behind him. He just feels tired.

Someone pushes his head back onto a shoulder, and the bed dips again. A hand, Derek thinks it might be Erica’s, grabs hold of his left hand, because he knows the nails digging into his right arm is definitely Laura’s. She’d scratched him up enough when they were pups, for him to know the exact texture of her nails, human nails included.

“Derek?” Laura repeats. Derek wants to tell her that he’s okay, she shouldn’t worry, but his mouth isn’t cooperating and all he manages is a faint ‘hng’ sound. Bile moves up his throat and for a second he thinks of all the ways a werewolf could possibly die, drowning in one’s own vomit, did not seem too fitting for a headstone.

“Shit, Laura, the bucket!” Isaac says in his ear, and huh, that’s who’s behind him. Derek couldn’t smell him, can’t smell anything right now, but he’s being tipped sideways, and his jaw is being pulled down.

Derek’s suddenly invested in vomiting his lungs out. The copper tang of blood fills his mouth, combined with something that tastes like tar. There’s a finger in his mouth, scraping whatever he just threw up out of his mouth. His chest burns a little more.

He starts floating a little, so he supposes someone must be draining his pain, but the fire in his chest doesn’t let up at all. Derek closes his eyes, and thinks, maybe if he wakes up in a little bit, he’ll feel better. After all, that’s what his mom always said when he was little.

:::

Derek wakes with a gasp. He pulls oxygen into his lungs like he’s coming down from a full moon run in the preserve. He’s on the floor of his bedroom, and he’s looking up at Deaton. He’s holding something in his hands, one of those things that doctors use to restart someone’s heart, Derek’s seen it on one of the doctor shows that Isaac likes to watch.

“Fuck,” He mumbles, and his throat is raw. Derek closes his eyes for a second, but there’s a flurry of movement around him. There are hands digging into his ankles and a weight on his left thigh. Deaton is still crouched next to him. Derek’s chest burns.

Deaton pulls something from a bag and spreads it over the burning spot on his chest with the tips of his fingers and the burning turns into a cool throb, before feeling just slightly warm. Derek feels his chest expand and oxygen fills his lungs to the point where he feels light-headed. Deaton leans back onto his haunches and wipes his brow. Derek has never seen Alan Deaton break a sweat, or change his tone of voice, or his facial expression, yet in the harsh light of his bedroom, Derek can see the sweat beaded on the older man’s bald head and the frown upon his face. This nearly frightens Derek more than seeing him in his house, especially because the man has no connection to the Hale pack anymore. He hasn’t been their Emissary, or their anything, since the long years between the fire, him and Laura running to New York, before coming back and tentatively rebuilding their pack. Deaton didn’t want to get caught up in this life again, and Derek didn’t want him in it. It was mutually beneficial, even though Deaton still helped if it was within his power to do so.

“What-“ He starts, but coughs. His throat is still scratched to high hell. “What happened?” He finally manages to croak. 

Deaton turns to him, his brow still furrowed and his mouth tight.

“You died.”

:::


End file.
